The gems of the weekend

Don't know what the hell I've been doing lately. Just sent off my first round of bills to clients. Getting paid will be nice. Not nearly enough, but nice.

I've had the chance to go through some of the stuff I picked up at Stumptown Comics Fest. The latest Brown Paper Bag was good stuff. I'm a big fan of Johnathan Hill's stuff. He's been posting pages from the graphic novel he's working on and I got a chance to see some of the actual art at the show. The man's working in a huge format. Like practically posterboard sized. I told him that when the book is published, he should be able to make an awesome gallery show of the originals.

Which reminds me AGAIN to plug this:



Another gem I found at the show was The Middle Man. It's illustrated by Les McClaine, whom I believe lives in Portland. I met him a month ago at a Gallery Show for his comic Jonny Crossbones. He's a retardedly talented artist. Dark Horse is actually going to publish Jonny Crossbones when he finishes it, but for now you can read a good deal online.

Halloweekend was so-so. My panda costume was a hit. I even ran into a few other (inferior) pandi at a huge party on Saturday night. All I have to say is that partying is hungry work.



Catherine and Dave also had excellent costumes. It was great because when I lost them, I could just go around asking if anybody had seen two crayons walk by.



Consider this a throw down for next Halloween. If you don't dress up, you get beat down. I'm already set on being another hoodie animal. Maybe a frog, because Dave though I looked like Mario in his Tanooki suit, and that would be the next logical progression.

-Thank you for reading.

Entirely too much to say.

First, there are introductions to be made.



This is Nudge. I inherited her from my sister. The timing was excellent because I was starting to haunt the Humane Society Web site looking at puppies I can't have and getting ready to settle on a rodent. Nudge has taken residence in the mud room, which still requires some re-arranging to prevent her from endulging her climbing tendencies. Seriously, I don't know how she's getting up on these stacks I made. I considered them quite insurmountable obelisks. But then I hear a rustling and come to find her atop Mt. Suitcase. The problem with rabbits is, while they can get up, the getting down doesn't factor into the ascent.

I've found she responds really well to me when I lie on the ground and just let her take her time to check me out. Somehow, it doesn't matter that she did the same thing yesterday. There isn't that much memory or trust yet. But slowly, she'll push my feet with her nose (which I how I named her) and then hop up on my chest. Yesterday, she actually came and licked my nose. If I wasn't in love already, I am now. Girls, take note: All it takes is a little nose-licking.

Another thing I've been remiss in mentioning is this:



I've been waiting for this for a year. It is wonderful. It makes me want to fall in love. It reads like memories. AND you have two incredible opportunities to meet the creators THIS WEEK! The Stumptown Comics Festival this Friday and Saturday and Floating World Comic's grand re-opening in Old Town for First Thursday. They'll actually be displaying some of the art from the book, which is beautiful x10. The first time I actually saw Joelle's work, I think I gasped a little bit. In my most critical moments, I'd say that I wish the book all looked like her best work. Her best stuff is in there, but not on every one of the 140+ pages. For her second printed work ever, her first being a short story in Dark Horse's Sexy Chix anthology, I'd imagine she was holding back a little in lieu of making sure deadlines were met. The book doesn't suffer for it at all. I guess, what I'm saying is, I think she's still going to keep wowing us with her subsequent works for a while.



Lastly, what the fuck is going on for Halloween?

-Thank you for reading.

A very strange few days

It seems important to get this down so I can make sense of it.

Thursday was First Thursday. There are two non-chronological differences between First Thursday and Last Thursday: First Thursday has more free booze and Last Thursday has more real people. I started the evening at Stumptown where my coffeeshop crush has art hanging this month. I really like her stuff. Great colors. It has a European feel to it. Most of the pieces were sold by the time I got there, which is great for her. If only the band wasn't so insanely loud. Seriously, that place is a concrete echo box.

I hit the usual galleries and didn't see anything else that impressed me as much. Well, not art anyway. There are more hot bikes to be seen on First Thursday than I can shake a stick at. I was particularly drooling over a Raleigh with bronze colored rims & hubs. At one point, I had that idea for Cub Scout, but ultimately it wasn't so practical.

My friends, whom I'd lost while roaming, gave me a call and I went to Tube - a place I generally don't like so much. However, the DJ was spinning the best soul and funk music I've heard since Sweet Jimmy T played my birthday and the place was a hopping dance bubble. Tube, for those of you who haven't been, is indeed very tube-like and cramped. So dancing there is an excellent way to meet drunk hipsters. Adopt one today!

Friday was the pub ride and I was really looking forward to it. The gloomy afternoon made me expect a small turnout, but as it happened the ride was crystal clear, just friggin' freezing. Bobby and his boyfriend Aaron were the only riders, but my friend Austin and some folks of his met us for a kick-off beer at Tugboat. At our next stop, ClarkLewis, I SWEAR TO GOD we were sitting behind Anne Hathaway. I haven't been able to prove it yet, but Aaron converted to my way of thinking after a good glance. While it would have been the smart thing to just ask, I am not that guy and Aaron, who is that guy, didn't man up in time.

I really like both Bobby and Aaron as individuals, but they make a great couple. I enjoy seeing Bobby happy and with someone who challenges and excites him. Now if only I could find one of those in girl-form for myself...

Friday ended at this tiny bar, Solo, which is underneath the Pearl Office Max. Weird, right? I ride past it all the time and have always been curious. It's a really neat spot and the cocktail waitress and I went to high school together. Always a nice surprise to bump into old acquaintances. I had a crush on her for a minute back in the day, so it was nice that she remembered me. You should check the bar out sometime, though I'd recommend an off-night so as to avoid what I assume is a crowd I wouldn't endorse.

Which leads me to Saturday.

Saturday Catherine had wrangled two simultaneous theme parties. Pac-Man Party and LEGO Party. What are the odds? LEGO Party was surprisingly enough, really about dorking out with LEGO. This guy Jay loves himself some toys. His walls are decorated with fancy action figures, still unopened, pinned to the walls. He'd made his own LEGO chess set, which was awesome. I tried to make a dragon, but ran out of time and blue pieces. It was a blue dragon. My friend Claire, who came out with us, put my dragon to shame with her Stegosaurus-ish monster.

Pac-Man party was mellow but in the basement of the house they had an honest-to-god Ms. Pac-Man machine and are in the process of building a projection theater. They've already got three tiers of actual theater seats and a purple curtain up on the walls yet no projector. Most people would go the other way around. But who am I to judge.

Oh yeah, Claire and I made a pit stop at Echo on MLK between the parties where I had the best dirty martini I've ever had. YAY!

To sum up, it's been a very long, tiring and fun three days. Huzzah for the weekend. If you like doing fun things like this, you should come to Lompoc Trivia Tuesday night at 7:30. It's triv-tastic.

-Thank you for reading.

'Tis the season to be drinking!

ALL you suckers in the Portland area who did not join me for LOMPOC TRIVIA TUESDAY are fat losers. Thanks to the scotch-fueled brainpower of Jamie S. Rich and the ability of my former co-worker Katie to be deployed as a hormone bomb on other teams we left for the evening one free pitcher of beer richer!

The evening got hairy for a moment when we artfully tried to discern what two liquid ingredients made up a "cement mixer" by ordering one from the bartender. When the opposing teams caught wise, they didn't take it too well. Ever the placator, I shared the information we gleaned (the server returned to tell us they were out of Bailey's) but we still couldn't figure out the missing second ingredient. Lime, as it turns out. Lemon was also acceptable, although no less gross.

What I'm trying to say is that GOOD TIMES WERE HAD. And you could be a part of them. The season is fresh and we've nowhere to go but down. I see T-shirts people. Or at least pins. Come next week at 7:30 and share your mind. I won't share the beer, though, until you've helped us win a pitcher.

In other booze news, you can also join Catherine and my Pub Ride on Friday. We're still open for suggestions as to where exactly we're going. We like to try and hit a bar in each of the four corners, but as you might expect from an evening with beer and bicycles, it can end up going most anywhere.

Lastly, and somewhat inter-related, I found this site the other day. It's an online directory of happy hours! I need this soooooo badly. We all need it. But first it needs our help. If you know of any cool happy hours, add them to the directory.

-Thank you for reading.

Name my contest, get $100

Well, it's not MY contest, per say. But I'm helping to promote it. Read the copy below. Spread the word. Get the word back to mason@notsaid.com

---------------------

We’re organizing a contest for writers and photographers to celebrate the spirit of Alberta St. with their art. We want to preserve and present the edgy counter-culture that’s being threatened by an influx of yuppies. It’s time for the weird and wonderful citizens of Alberta to show the world how they want to be seen.

In that spirit, we’re asking you to name our contest. Here are the questions we’re asking ourselves: What is it about Alberta St. that makes it special? What is it that needs to be preserved as Portland continues to grow?

If that helps, great. If not, scrap it. We’re looking for stuff that’s short, sharp and slightly dangerous. But mostly, we’re looking for real emotion and attachment to the neighborhood.

Submissions must be in by 6 p.m. Sept. 25 (a.k.a. Monday). Reply to the e-mail above.
The winner gets 100 bucks.

And, whatever it ends up being called, be on the lookout for the contest. First prize for photography and writing will be $500 each!

What does it mean?

I'm working on a project and need some feedback as to how this concept comes across:

PREVENTRIFICATION

What does that mean to you? Let me know.

-Thanks for reading.

Reading is for suckers. Listening is for lovers.

!!!ATTENTION PORTLAND LITERATI!!!



Join me Thursday evening at 7pm to hear Jamie S. Rich read at 23rd Ave. Books. That's him in the pretty picture with our mutual friend Catherine (or Katie, as she is known in certain circles) and some neat light tracers that I don't know how I captured.

I will tell you that it is free and that it will be awesome. The rest of the details, and other Rich-related news, you can find on his blog: Confessions of a Pop Fan. If you do not come, we are no longer friends.

-Thank you for reading.

Getting on my Soapbox

It's not a good thing when you've already been drunk and are progressing toward hung-over by 8pm, but then, that's what Soapbox is about.

This was my third year in attendance at the derby, and probably my least favorite. Not that it wasn't fun, but as many reported The Man was cracking down this year. The sorest casualty was The Gauntlet, where after the winners have been decided, all remaining cars go down the hill at once. With competitive races limited to three cars suddenly bloating to 40+, it was the surefire way to see someone eat pavement. But some whinny bastard spectator decided to file a lawsuit last year when they were injured. BOO HOO! Let's run this down: People who enjoy hurdling themselves, brakeless, down hills in heavy vehicles, while DRUNK - and there's 40 of them... you think this is a SAFE environment?!? HELL NO! Just being a spectator at soapbox is to put your ass on the line. Take that lawyer money and invest it in a membership at Bally's so next time you can jump the fuck out of the way.

ANYway.

I found this pic of one of the fan favorites. I'm stealing it because the photographer is much better than me.



I also found a decent video of the day's events. These people have such fast turn around.

-Thank you for reading.

p.s. So, today is 9/11. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me, but I suppose it should be. I wouldn't feel so bad having a day of remembrance from it if the event wasn't so symbolic of a painful downturn in our society.

You wanna be starting something

I got a package yesterday - which I was instantly excited about, because it's always my roommate that gets all the good mail. But it turned out to just be copies of the Oregon City News and the Clackamas Review in which the story I wrote was published, on the bottom fold of the front page, no less.

A few weeks back, I mentioned meeting my high school journalism instructor. This story was the first fruit of that meeting. It was a relatively short profile on Reggie Houston, a local jazz vocalist and saxophonist. Really interesting fellow, actually. It was hard to pick a coherent line through the material I gathered in our three hour interview. I felt pretty rusty when I actually sat down to write it and wasn't sure how pleased I was with the result. But the editor and my ex-prof were happy. I just re-read it today and, you know what? I am too.

I had another ancient acquaintance meeting this week... with a childhood babysitter. He, now grown and married, works at nonbox advertising, a name strikingly similar to my own notsaid. He gave me some really good pointers on ways to approach this job search of mine and market myself. Apparently, in the ad world, you can just make stuff up and show it to people. It's just the creativity that really counts. Who'da thunk?

So, if you have any need for some creative marketing ideas and materials, now is the time to ask me. I've got the juices flowing. I've already set my mind to helping my friend Angel with her new Local Music Night at The Sapphire Hotel. I have a couple good ideas for that. And I'm working on a pitch for this physical therapy clinic which my Belize clients recommended me to.

Things = looking up, but ever so slightly.

I could still use that one chance to break through. Seriously, guys. What's the hold up? (smiles)

-Thank you for reading.

All I wanna do is...

BICYCLE!!!

The dam of my resolve broke this weekend and I went out and dropped some serious cash on components to build up the bicycle frame I've been sitting on since April. I wish I had a before picture, but trust me, it looked nothing like this:







I call her Cub Scout, or "Scout" for short. She's not perfect just yet. I need to find a yellow saddle. And I'm going to dig up my old scout uniform and maybe find a way to put some patches on her.

But even so, I am sooooo happy with her! She's half the weight of Sludge (my Raleigh bike), taller, more comfortable, more aggressively geared (that's a good thing)... She's pretty much everything I wanted, which is good because I made her.

I didn't have to do any of the hardest things regarding building a bike: Taking apart wheel hubs, building wheels, messing with out of date bottom brackets... But even so, I installed all the pieces, cut the cables and housings and fine tuned everything. I feel so accomplished. There were plenty of complications and fudges, I have the cuts all over my hands to prove it, but it's done and I'm riding it all over the place. Come ride with me!

-Thank you for reading.

Do dooo dododo

Went to see the much anticipated Menomena show last night at Doug Fir and I'm not ready to give it a glowing review. They played a good mix of new tunes and old favorites - including the fastest version of "Cough Coughing" I've ever heard. I'm listening to a couple of the tracks you can download on their MySpace, which I'm not sure if they will be on the album or if they're just throw aways. As reported in WW the band is pushing back the release a few months to perfect and fine tune the recordings.

I found similar elements in the new songs as in some of my favorite oldies. Similar chord progressions and riffs. But that's not bad. And I'm not in a position to judge them yet. But what got to me was the feeling of unease I was getting from the stage. They didn't feel unified. Justin (bass/sax) admitted at the get go that the band was nervous, but why? Portland hearts Menomena. We missed them. They should be comforted here. They should feel the freedom to go try new things and experiment without judgement. I know I have reserved mine.

The pleasant surprise of the evening was Nice Nice. Where Menomena felt a little disjointed, this duo was completely in sync. And that's what it takes to craft the rich, swelling loops that filled the room to the ceiling. I was honestly more impressed with the drummer, even though the guitarist/everythingelseist had to switch more instruments and fine tune his loops. The drummer had such a mastery of his instrument as well as incorporating an electronic sample pad with a variety of other sounds/tones. I want one.

-Thank you for reading.

Feast of Blog

I got to be an extra on the movie yesterday. Heading back today for more.

Honestly, it's not that big a deal. It was a big outdoor scene that needed a lot of people shuffling around in the background. Extras Only was practically begging for anybody to come down who could promise availability for these days as well as one next week.

But, still. I got to be in a movie!

The funny and frustrating thing on set is actually the other extras themselves. We are peasants. Pawns meant to be shuffled around at will repeating mundane tasks and walking predetermined paths to and fro. By our very being there, we know this. Yet, to bolster our small Portland egos against the Hollywoodism, we must poke fun. We must act entitled. We must say things like "Oh, well, you know this is my scene and you're blocking my light." We must feign complaint when a scene must be repeated even though we nailed our performances. For my part, I laid claim to an upshot weed between two slabs of sidewalk as my "mark" and took sophomoric joy in telling people to "get off my weed" or asking "where's my weed at?"

Not my strongest moment, but I was there for over 14 hours. Cut me some slack.

There are temporary bonds of friendship and convenience that happen, but they are more impactful than most such attachments because A) 14 hours and B) Most of the same people will be back the next day. I was stuck in a walking pack with two 19-year-old fellows who were fine for the first few hours, but their continual bickering and bantering found me trying to put more and more distance between us. Thankfully, I succeeded.

It was something of a surprise to me that there were not many attractive girls in the extra pool. Hollywood being as beauty obsessed as it is, I expected they would want even their backdrops to be pretty. That's how it is on The O.C. There were a few girls who were passingly attractive. You know the type: Nice form, decent hair. Enough to warrant a second glance - and probably a third and fourth. But the closer you scrutinize, the less the appeal. Too much makeup. Bad hair dye. Something in the posture that says "shallow personality" or "low self esteem" or "thinks too highly of herself" or "If I couldn't use my cell phone for an hour, I would just die. I'm adding a new category to these women: "I don't look like it, but I've got kids and a broken home."

TWO of the girls I met and chatted with had kids. One of them, to be specific, had FOUR kids. She is 30. With four kids. Jesus.

Four kids and I talked for a good while when I was reassigned to sit as a passenger in her car. The scene required cars in the background as well as people. The main action was for someone to be loaded from a field to a car, which then drives through a mass of people and cuts off other cars while getting back on the road. The lucky reward of my day was that the car I was positioned in happened to be right where the Star Car was cutting in traffic. So for the last two hours of my day, I had to "act" surprised as this Volvo come hurdling off the grass and nearly into my passenger door. I have no shame in admitting that didn't take much acting. Good stunt drivers these days.

And that really amazed me: The other two cars that were integral parts of this scene were taken over by other stunt drivers, and their actual owners turned into passengers. How they decided to let F.K. remain at the wheel... I don't know. But she performed admirably and I felt priviledged to put my life in her hands. I mean, she's already caring for four other ones. Must know what she's doing.

So, I figure that will be my best chance of having a passing second of celluloid go in my favor. When we all go see the movie, I will likely scream. God. Portland is going to go APEshit when this movie comes out. I mean, they've filmed at the Mississippi Fresh Pot, Hawthorne Lucky Lab, Reed College... it's a Portland wank fest.

Awesome.

-Thank you for reading.

Moving On

I'm done.

The DVD for St. George's Caye Lodge goes off for production tomorrow. The process has taken three times longer than I ever expected and been ten times harder, but I'm very proud of what I've made. And considering I went from not knowing anything about this field six months ago, I think I've done a hell of a job. The clients are thrilled and I need to get a glowing testimonial from them for Not Said.

So, now the big question is: What next?

I've been trying to get a hold of as many people I can in the media/advertising industry around town to pick their brains for advice and job leads. If you are one of these people, or know any of these people you can get a hold of me here. Likewise, if you would like to send me to your foreign resort to make a DVD, the same link applies.

Never hurts to ask.

Following other leads, I met my high school journalism teacher, Mrs. Spitaleri, for coffee this morning. Yes, high school. She tracked me down a few years ago when she started working for some of the community newspapers in the Portland suburbs wanting to put me on notice of some jobs. Today, I met with her and her editors about possibly freelancing in the near future. There are certainly more exciting things to do than community reporting, but those papers sell. By the percentages, I think they do better than The Oregonian. People will never get tired of following the ol' high school football team and reading about all the kids that got arrested that week for drunken stupidity. Seriously, my roommie's parents were just over the night and her mother was recounting the latest collars.

It's amazing to me, but still more amazing to most everyone else, that my high school teacher keeps me in her thoughts. I suppose that's the kind of impression you make when you're as big an ass as I am. One of my great regrets from high school was losing Mrs. Spit (as we called her) as my partner for Senior/Faculty bowling. I left campus without her permission during class - to go home for a snack or some other silliness - and the consequence of that action was she decided not to bowl with me. She almost cried, she was so upset by the principal of the thing. I was equally upset, but she made her point. It sucks that to do that, sometimes you have to hurt yourself. The roommie can tell you all about that these days.

In preparation for the meeting, I went through all my old clips to find a few worth taking to Kinkos. Man, I have written a lot of crap in my day. That anybody ever agreed to publish it... it just doesn't make sense. My first column in college was about doing my laundry for the first time. I was a freshman, sure, but still. The other point of looking through those clips was to gather some to use in my application for Willamette Week's Screen Editor position. And I swear, if I get it, I will make myself a scrapbook of journalistic atrocities to keep me from phoning it in like I used to in college. But getting that position will be like throwing a Hail Mary to Africa.

All in all, I'm relieved to be moving on. It's scary and exciting to have so many possibilities open. I've spent a lot of my 25 years trying to make things happen and fight upstream for things. But more and more I'm finding that just being open to opportunities, having the balls to seize them and committing to deliver on your promises can get you much farther. Friends have said they're jealous of my odd ability to just have weird things fall in my lap. And I suppose I'm finally ready to accept their jealousy rather than tell they they're wrong.

-Thank you for reading.

Read all about it

If you are able to read things printed in the English language, you should get your hands on this:



Spurred on by duty and admiration, I've read almost everything Mr. Rich has published. But The Everlasting is easily his best and most enjoyable work yet. I'm only about a third of the way through and am having a hard time pacing myself enough to enjoy the story rather than giving in to my "what happens next?!?" impulse to finish it in a caffine-fueled evening.

Not only has Mr. Rich produced a wonderful bit of modern fiction (much of which I'm sure is only a half-step away from reality) but he is giving away more of it free fuckin' gratis. Blurring the already hazy line, Lance Scott has stepped out of the novel and is miraculously updating an honest to goodness Livejournal page, which you may find here.

But wait, as they say... There's more.



The Everlasting shoots off from the same world as Love The Way You Love, which in turn ties in to Rich's first novel: Cut My Hair. It's a dense world where things play off themselves and reflect through different perspectives and times. I just read a chapter in The Everlasting that explains in more depth the first pages of LTWYL. Rich was even bold enough to drop mention of his novella I Was Someone Dead, and I'm curious to see how he ties up, which I assume will happen in his forthcoming third novel.

I'm resisting the urge to get too analytical about any of this because, honestly, these books are all really fun to read. They are fiction only in the sense that people with these names and exact histories do not exist. But they are grounded in the real world physically, culturally and - most importantly - emotionally. If you haven't gotten it by Chrismukkah, I'm making The Everlasting my yarmulke stuffer.

-Thank you for reading.

First learn balance, then learn fly

Bits of good and bad news have come across my desk lately. In the positive pile, The Roomie just landed a new job that sounds totally up her alley. But even if it was less than perfect, it would be better than the job she has progressively increased her bitch quotient about in the 2+ years I've known her.

In the bummer basket, I got an unfortunate piece of news from a close friend that does not warrant being repeated here or anywhere else for that matter. Let it just be said that I am doing my best to lighten his spirits.

I can sense the Summer of Mason coming to a close. I will be finishing the Belize Video likely within the week (finally). So what happens now? I'm very aware that financially it has allowed me to be very liberated this summer. But more so, it was a mental comfort. Whenever I was goofing off, I was thinking in my head: "It's ok, though, I'm working on The Video." While I have made certain small steps toward being able to continue in this line of work, there is a lot more that needs to be done before I can take it seriously. I've already had some very eye-opening meetings with some people on the professional level, and what these have made me realise is that I have a lot to learn before I can work at that level. There is a quality of product that I can deliver on my own, and that quality may suit many people's needs. But there is a very distinct line between that product and a professional product.

So, where I'm really setting my goals, in this regard, are to conect with some people that know more about it. I'd love to get a job working with a company to produce films/commercials/whathaveyou and fill in the gaps that I know nothing about. First, there is a completely different language spoken by these people. I was just sitting next to a few of them at Stumptown and I would have eavesdropped, had I been able to penetrate their jargon. But let me just say, if you know anyone...

I recently took a second look at the "novel" I started writing during national novel writing month last year, and you know, I kinda liked what I'd written. So I'm getting back into that, if only because it's fun. My whole approach was to just make it up as I go along until something starts to gel. And that's worked so far, but I know that the only things I enjoy reading have a sense of purpose, even when they seem completely random. My decision to read anything is putting faith in the author that I will be rewarded for following the path they have laid down. That I will be going somewhere. I would like to do the same for my fictitious readers.

And with that...

-Thank you for reading.

pimp my web

Finally, it's there. Here. Whatever.



Check out my web site! It's very orange. I like it. Do you like it? Let me know.

-Thank you for reading.

Verbatim

So, if you haven't gone to check out English, Baby! yet, this is what you're missing:

Mason: Alright, so I’ll fess up to this. I was watching Entertainment Tonight the other night and I heard that Britney and Kevin stayed in separate hotel rooms on their recent trip to Florida.

Amanda: Okay.

Mason: So there’s all this speculation now, maybe is the divorce coming on?

Amanda: But you know, they have been living in separate quarters...

Mason: What?

Amanda: ...in their own home.

Mason: No!

Amanda: Right.

Mason: Well, he maybe snores.

Amanda: Mmm, maybe.

Mason: He could be a log-sawer.

Amanda: But supposedly she’s on the main floor and he is in the basement.

Mason: [laughs]. In the basement!

Amanda: So, there’s that plus the separate hotels. So who knows?

Mason: Well, he’s always been a kept man. He’s always been a kept man, come on!

Amanda: [laughs].

Mason: I mean, there’s always been that thing. It’s like what does he do? He does nothing, he sits there and mooches off of Britney.

Amanda: Yes.

Mason: So, like, if she’s finally, you know, if the two brain cells that she has have, like, clicked, and she’s realized what he’s doing, you think she’s justified in kicking him out?


Now, imagine listening to that. Oh yeah.

-Thank you for reading.

Famous in seven continents

My first lesson on English, Baby! went up on Wednesday. Now you can learn English from the pro!

A full update of my California trip will be posted when it is over. For now, rest safe in the knowledge that Burgerville is better than In and Out.

-Thank you for reading.

King of the road

I have done what I thought impossible: Make a solo, continuous drive to Los Angeles.

It wasn't my intention. I gave myself two days to make the trek, figuring I would just stop when I was tired. But I wasn't getting tired. So I made myself little promises... and kept breaking them. "Let's at least get to Sacramento and then stop at the next quaint town." There are no quaint towns past Sacramento. "I'll drive until it gets dark." Well, but the time it was dark, there was only three hours left to go.

Back home, three hours driving would put me in Bend - which is, normally, in my mind "A Big Trip." However, when put in the perspective of having already driven 11 hours - three more seems less daunting. There is also the practical matter of spending money on a hotel room. My life is on a budget these days, and this trip is an extravagance. But need it be overly so? No. The final push came from my pride, which would not let me come so close to this achievement and fall short.

And so, just before 11:30 pm, I arrived at Russ' house in L.A.

There are two things without which I would not have been able to do this: My ipod and 2 liters of Coke. Blessed be. I listened to The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy on audio book - which killed a good six hours. The only way to drive solo is to pretend like you have someone else in the car.

More adventures to come.

-Thank you for reading.

King of the road

I have done what I thought impossible: Make a solo, continuous drive to Los Angeles.

It wasn't my intention. I gave myself two days to make the trek, figuring I would just stop when I was tired. But I wasn't getting tired. So I made myself little promises... and kept breaking them. "Let's at least get to Sacramento and then stop at the next quaint town." There are no quaint towns past Sacramento. "I'll drive until it gets dark." Well, but the time it was dark, there was only three hours left to go.

Back home, three hours driving would put me in Bend - which is, normally, in my mind "A Big Trip." However, when put in the perspective of having already driven 11 hours - three more seems less daunting. There is also the practical matter of spending money on a hotel room. My life is on a budget these days, and this trip is an extravagance. But need it be overly so? No. The final push came from my pride, which would not let me come so close to this achievement and fall short.

And so, just before 11:30 pm, I arrived at Russ' house in L.A.

There are two things without which I would not have been able to do this: My ipod and 2 liters of Coke. Blessed be. I listened to The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy on audio book - which killed a good six hours. The only way to drive solo is to pretend like you have someone else in the car.

More adventures to come.

-Thank you for reading.