July 2005 Archives

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know.

Or is that just me?

It's been a few times lately.

My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to my house after work with friends and co-workers, so I have several times wound up in the hot tub with naked, inebriated restaurant staff.

I was sitting at the bar one night, my bachelor week a couple weeks ago. I was sipping dirty martinis and people-watching; writing a story in my head that was being narrated by someone very like Marv in Sin City.

I was also watching waitresses. I love waitresses. And I kept thinking, I know that one girl but I could not dig up how.

It hit me. I think I've seen her naked. I could remember her full, luscious breasts.

If I could get her undressed, I thought, I could be sure.

Then there was another friend. I've seen her web cam photos, but when I met her in person, she was dressed. I didn't recognize her at all. Thne later, in the hot tub, I realized, I've seen those tits before. And it hit me. I'd know you if you were naked.

The last time was, of course, another waitress. A mexican joint not far from me. I used to eat there weekly, but not so much in the last year, for no reason other than shifts in dining habits. They have a new waitress, and as usual, I took a liking to her on first site. She looks youngish, brunette. Short, with great thighs in a too-short skirt. Pierced nose, pony tail. She smiled at me in a way that made me want to growl.

And I kept thinking, I know this girl.

In fact I don't, I finally realized what it was. She looks like a combination of a couple women. A stripper from some club I was at not long ago, and a girl I've seen on a porn web site. My brain fused them together and this cute little waitress was just similar enough that she pinged my sense of familiarity. And again, I had that thought. If you were naked, I'd know how I know you.

Maybe it's just that I know bodies better than I know clothes. People I've seen naked a lot, I know in my mind's eye every mole and scar and curve, every hair. Close friends, I could not tell you what they had on the last time I saw them, but I could tell you exactly what bruises they had the last time I saw them naked.

Wearing nothing is devine, naked is a state of mind
I take things off to clear my head to say the things I haven't said
I live inside the elements the the earth and sky are my best friends
Water is the evidence that washes me from end to end

Show some love to MashupTown - get yer mashup town shit:

Yeah I got mine, but mine is grey. Yours, though, should be pink.

[made with ecto]

Dammit, I hate working on sundays.

Still struggling with a perforce problem. My tar process got the files moved over, finally, but now I have to nuke about 100 million files.

Can't these fuckers come up with a way to *extract* meta-data? I have to copy the fucking thing and delete (obliterate, in perforce terms) everything I don't want.

They need to think about offering a real database back-end, I tellya. The proprietary db model is getting old.

Grumble, grumble. I'd rather be at a strip club.

[made with ecto]

Ever have a moment where you look at someone and they look familiar, and you think, if you were naked, I would know.

Or is that just me?

It's been a few times lately.

My friend Andrea waits tables at a local, upscale restaurant, a wine and cocktails type bistro. She often comes over to my house after work with friends and co-workers, so I have several times wound up in the hot tub with naked, inebriated restaurant staff.

I was sitting at the bar one night, my bachelor week a couple weeks ago. I was sipping dirty martinis and people-watching; writing a story in my head that was being narrated by someone very like Marv in Sin City.

I was also watching waitresses. I love waitresses. And I kept thinking, I know that one girl but I could not dig up how.

It hit me. I think I've seen her naked. I could remember her full, luscious breasts.

If I could get her undressed, I thought, I could be sure.

Then there was another friend. I've seen her web cam photos, but when I met her in person, she was dressed. I didn't recognize her at all. Thne later, in the hot tub, I realized, I've seen those tits before. And it hit me. I'd know you if you were naked.

The last time was, of course, another waitress. A mexican joint not far from me. I used to eat there weekly, but not so much in the last year, for no reason other than shifts in dining habits. They have a new waitress, and as usual, I took a liking to her on first site. She looks youngish, brunette. Short, with great thighs in a too-short skirt. Pierced nose, pony tail. She smiled at me in a way that made me want to growl.

And I kept thinking, I know this girl.

In fact I don't, I finally realized what it was. She looks like a combination of a couple women. A stripper from some club I was at not long ago, and a girl I've seen on a porn web site. My brain fused them together and this cute little waitress was just similar enough that she pinged my sense of familiarity. And again, I had that thought. If you were naked, I'd know how I know you.

Maybe it's just that I know bodies better than I know clothes. People I've seen naked a lot, I know in my mind's eye every mole and scar and curve, every hair. Close friends, I could not tell you what they had on the last time I saw them, but I could tell you exactly what bruises they had the last time I saw them naked.

Wearing nothing is devine, naked is a state of mind
I take things off to clear my head to say the things I haven't said
I live inside the elements the the earth and sky are my best friends
Water is the evidence that washes me from end to end

I'm having one of those weekends where I just can't seem to focus on anything. I had a bunch of stuff I wanted to blog about - some stuff about stories I've been working on, maybe some harry potter, a bit about rebuilding a bbq and about mediating wars over polly pocket dolls.

But I'm sunburned and tired, and I've been struggling all weekend with trying to get a perforce tree copied over with rsync (don't worry if you don't understand that, it's not important) so I could do a maintenance task I thought I could do over the weekend. I'm frustrated and would rather be someplace else doing something else.

The stuff I wanted to do this weekend seems to have fallen by the way-side.

Maybe sunday will get better. I have a fine cup 'o peets sumtra, and I gave up on rsync and am using tar instead. If I can get that to fucking finish before sunset, and if I drink a couple more mugs of this fine coffee this morning, maybe I'll feel a little less pissed off.

But I still wish I was someplace else.

[made with ecto]

My daughter is seven years old today.

Wow. How time fucking slips between my fingers. I remember the first one, who's now eleven, being born only a couple years ago. This one can't possibly be this big, this old already.

Seven years can go by in a blink.

Happy Birthday, Ruby. I love you.

[made with ecto]

Doxy, it's almost football season, already.

How the fuck did that happen?

Pre-season starts next Saturday, august 6 with an unimportant Indianapolis vs. Atlanta game (Interesting only because it's in Japan); your team kicks off preseason that monday, august 8.

My guys, the 49ers, get into it against Oakland on the following saturday, august 13. Hell, I wonder if I can get tickets to that one?

I'm starting to miss my season tickets. Last year it was easy to have them gone, the worst year to be a 49ers fan since the late 1970s. But I'm watching a new coach - and it seems, a coach with a clue - build a new team around a new quarterback. New defensive, offensive co-ordinators, new defensive scheme. Lots of new players, for once, where they're need, on the O-line.

I'm cautiously optimistic about my team's chances, for the first time in a couple years.

I'm looking at my calendar. Wow, it's been a long year since last I sat here thinking about the start of football season. A year ago today I was getting ready to go to Fiji. I was thinking about how I was missing my first football season in years with my season tickets gone.

A long, long year. I have not been in the ocean since then; I've not been on vacation since then, not really (well, a short trip to Florida, too short, and a day here or there).

I don't feel like the same person I was a year ago; in some ways I'm better, in some ways not. I feel as if that summer was the start of some rebirth for me, a process that maybe is still only beginning.

It's almost fall, already, summer past it's peak and on the down-slide. The year is past it's halfway point. For many years, where the summer begins to ebb, I've looked forward to football season as the consolation prize for the loss of my favorite season. Sundays, monday nights, become the high point in my week. Last year, it felt deeply strange to not care about it, to look forward to friday, the end of my week, more than I looked forward to monday nights and the game.

I'm hoping for a better season, this year. Doxy, I'm hoping our teams, with our first and second draft picks, can crawl back outta the pit and make us proud.

Let's make us a date, ok? Some year, I'll take you to the superbowl. And maybe this time your guys will win.

[made with ecto]

I can't stop thinking about sun and sea today.

It's been a while since I've sat at work and daydreamed about a sandy beach, diving exotic oceans, sailing sunny seas. Today I can't stop picturing it.

I want to sleep in a hammock under a palm tree. I want to walk on a beach and feel my skin go tan. I want that salty feeling my skin has when I've been in and out of the ocean all day.

I need to be on a boat. It's been too long. I feel good when I'm on a boat, at one with the universe. I'm made to be at sea, not land-locked in a valley.

I need to get the fuck outta here.

[made with ecto]

Ok. Last week I bulldozed through the entire season of Firefly all in a marathon viewing session.

I've re-watched a couple episodes since with the director's commentary on.

So here's my summary.

I'm a knife geek.

I own a lotta knives. All sorts of knives. Pocket knives. Hunting knives. Balisong/butterfly knives. Switchblades. Bayonets. Finnish Pukko knives. Tactical folders. Skean Dubhs. And kitchen knives. Way more than I need. French, german. At least four serious chef's knives (wait, no, it's six). Several paring knives. Couple fillet knives. A butcher knife or two.

One of the key things is, I keep them fucking sharp. If they're not close to being razors, what's the point?

My all time favorite is the carbon steel french knife from Thiers-Issard. It takes an incredible edge, and like the knives I grew up using, it goes black with age. I love this knife.

But one of the facts is, you use knives, you're gonna get cut. I got my first knife when I was six, and then made my first trip to the emergency room for stitches shortly after. Cooks get cut all the damned time.

Tonight I was making dinner; I grabbed the carbon steel knife, picked up my sharpener to freshen the edge (one of those ceramic deals with two rods in a big V). As usual, I hold the sharpener with my left hand, the knife in my right. Tonight, I missed the rod and whacked down hard enough on my hand to make an audible thunk.

Ow, thought, and then went on. It just felt like a whack. But then I realized how sharp this knife is. I looked at my hand, and there was a razor-thin red line. Then I bent the knuckle.

That's gonna bleed a lot, I said to myself.

The thing with cuts on that hand is, they're hard to bandage by yourself. After about three tries, I was about to call a friend to come help me. But the thing is, I don't have the fucking patience. So I went for the biggest damned bandaid I could find, slapped it on, and finished dinner.

All this is, of course, only an excuse to try my new iSight camera out. But here's the result.

Really though, I'm good with a knife. Damned good. I'm just not so good with bandages.

[made with ecto]

Thanks to Brett, I found that Flesh Gordon poster I wanted on Ebay for ten bucks. Boo-ya!

New decor for the office.

I can't tell you why I love this movie. It's fully lame. There's just something so cracked about it, so utterly off that it makes me giggle.

[made with ecto]

God, I feel like I've totally dropped out of the blogosphere. I really haven't even thought about any entries of note in a
week, I have not read anyone else's blog in a week. I've barely been on line, haven't IM'd, have not answered email.

Even though I've been working like a dog all week, I still feel like I've been on vacation from everything. But now I feel oddly out of touch with the online world and have a lotta catch-up reading to do.

My bachelor week is about done. And while I didn't go anywhere, still, I feel like I've had a vacation. My watch is in the shop for repair, and literally, it's been a week since I knew what time it was; it's been a week since I cared what time it was.

So what have I done? I'm trying to think. Not much, and yet I feel like I've been busy. Busy not doing anything important at all. I've been to a few dinners, watched a few movies, finished a couple books, written quite a bit. I've had too much to drink almost every night. I've talked to friends on the phone, I've hung out with topless, sunbathing lesbians, I've seen a movie, watched some TV, and just hung out a lot. I've been to a couple strip clubs, gone drinking with a group of guys I just met, watched porn movies. I've sat in the sun and done nothing. I've gone swimming at midnight and slept until 10am. I've gone for motorcycle rides and cooked for myself. Re-wired a friend's AV system.

I have not read any Harry Potter. Waiting for the family to get home for that one. But I have read up on Harry Potter spoilers. I'm like that.

Apart from some writing and work, I've avoided my computer. As I said, little IM, no blogging or reading blogs. I'm behind on mashups over at MashupTown, I'm behind on everyone's blogs; I don't think I've left a blog comment in a week.

It's been an interesting week. I have never truly lived alone. I haven't been this alone in years; last time I was this alone, I crashed my motorcycle and spent most of the week barely able to walk with a back sprain. This is considerably better.

Yet it's weird to get up in the morning and not see my kids; it's weird to not read them stories before bed. It's weird to not have anyone to cook for; it's weird not to have the daily, constant chaos that comes from living with a family. That chaos is both the bane and the beauty of being a father, so it's loss is both good and bad. It's lovely to not have to run my dishwasher daily, to not have two loads of wash every day, to know any mess I have to clean, I made. But it's a little empty to come home from work and not have anyone say Hi Daddy.

I miss 'em. Yet, this is good; it's been therapeutic for me in many ways. Time to think, to relax, to not have to think about anyone's needs but mine. I think we all need more of this; fathers, mothers, husbands, wives. Our kids, if they're lucky, sometimes go to summer camp, and some of us get to go away to college. Grownups need summer camp now and then, I think. Particularly a summer camp with strippers and sunbathing, topless lesbians.

I must say though, I'm still tempted to go get my nipples pierced before everyone comes home. I've been thinking about it for a week, and I just might go do it, tonight, tomorrow. I would have gotten a tattoo, were not finances a little short this month, but some part of me wants to do something that leaves a mark. Other than walking into a door.

[made with ecto]

Candy doesn't have to have a point. That's why it's candy.

I wrote a bit of this over in Ray's comments, but I wanted to go into it here for a couple reasons.

One is that I just read a very good article on Roald Dahl in The New Yorker. I didn't know a lot about him, other than vague rumors about his being a real bastard, and that (my eleven-year-old insists regularly) his first name is pronounced Roo-all, so this was pretty interesting.

Second, I wanted to highly recommend the new film, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

[made with ecto]

I actually have a story most of the way done. I hit the ending, though it needs a lotta editing. But I finally hit a stride today and the words started to come, and I had that "don't stop don't stop" feeling I get when the writing is working.

Now if I can switch into edit and re-write mode I might have something to put up in public soon. It's been a while, not since the dirty xmas story last winter.

Fingers crossed...

[made with ecto]

God, I love Joss.

"If they take the ship, they'll rape us to death, eat our flesh and sew our skins into their clothing and if we're very very lucky, they'll do it in that order."

"We're not gonna die. We can't die, Bendis. You know why? Because we are so very pretty. We are just too pretty for God to let us die."

The above quotes are all from the first episode of Firefly; the one that was meant to be first anyway, which is not the one that aired first. Fuck me if I know why, but I'm sure that's been talked to death.

[made with ecto]

No, Not the reality teevee show. I'm done with that topic.

I'm talking about a temporary bachelor.

The family are taking off for a toasty tour of the southwest (why do they call it the southwest when it's east of here? And what's with the midwest? It's not mid, nor west). I, on the other hand, as a workin' stiff, can't always take off at the last minute with no advance planning. So I'm keepin' the home fires burnin' and waiting for some post-cards and t-shirts. Gray, with skulls. That's it, you know what I like.

Meanwhile, I've got a big ten days here to myself.

Obviously, I'm hoping to get some writing done. It's a prime chance, truly. And if I could turn the tap in my head, I could write a fucking novel in ten days. I've got the stories, and I've got the time. But I'll keep expectations low and just say, I'll work, and maybe I'll get a story or two I can post.

Most likely, I'll spend too much time at home. I'll do a ton of laundry, watch a lotta movies (I got netflix again - first up, Firefly), read a thick, heavy book or two (Moby Dick? Hell, it's on my bedside table), and drink way too much. I'm tellin' ya, friends, if I do this, come get me outta the house. Sometimes I go hermit when I have the house to myself. Come get me and take me out and get me in trouble. I could use it.

The worst thing I do when I'm alone is that I tend to spend way too much time at work. With no reason to get home, no one to cook for or clean up after, I tend to think, I'll just finish this today instead of putting it off. That, also, I need to resist.

Other things come to mind. Maybe I'll take a short motorcycle trip, pack just what I need and head off up or down the coast. Maybe I'll toss a sleeping bag and a jug of wine in my jeep and find a beach to sleep on.

Why not? A man's gotta try for an adventure or two.

Or maybe I'll just conduct a short tour of dive bars in my town. That shouldn't take long, it's a small town and it's got too few bars. Drink up and crawl home. In the old days, I'd have gone on a weekend-long chemical vacation; I miss being young and stupid sometimes.

Hell, I'll find some way to occupy the hours. I always do.

[made with ecto]

Oh thank god. NHL hockey is coming back.

Wow, I wonder how cheap I can get Sharks season tickets?

[made with ecto]

I'll take Band Names you don't expect to see on CNN for $1000, Alex!

[made with ecto]

This is just fucking creepy:

"I can't begin to convey how creepy this is. It looks innocent enough - an amateur Photoshopping contest for making headshots of women and girls look more angelic. But once you start scrolling down, the aesthetic really starts to squick you out..."

[made with ecto]

I make ze little confession.

I've fallen for another reality show.

Yes, it's true. I cannot help it. I fought. I resisted. But in the end, I fell. I'm hooked on Blow Out.

I can't figure out why. I should hate this show. It's full of the vapid rich-n-famous crap I can't take at all. It's set it beverly hills and west hollywood. I hated it on sight when I saw the promos last year.

Yet, the other night, I found myself in the middle of an episode (summary of which ep), first interested, then starting to care.

That's the slippery slope of reality teevee; when you start to care. Get out before that and you might be ok, but once you start to care about the 'characters', you're sucked into the mire.

I dunno. Maybe it's that I've known so many hairdressers. Now, I shave my head, so I have not needed a haircut or a hair product in most of a decade. But there was a time when I was hairstyle kid; big hair and fashion-cuts and colors. Spiky or flat-topped or layered. I got my hair cut regularly and knew all about the lives and loves and drama in several local salons. To this day, the guy who used to cut my hair, Frankie (Who really should have a web page), is still a friend.

Maybe that's why I like this show. Or maybe it's just fuckin' Jonathan. The man's a natural for teevee; tall, masculine, handsome as hell; brilliant cutter and stylist, great voice, great cowboy style. He's dynamic and charismatic. You can see, instantly, why he's a huge success in the biz, and why someone said "put that man on TV!" The whole thing has the classic feel; the boss, the captain, the chief, who will do whatever it takes to win, but also cares about his crew, his gang, his troop. It could be a gang drama, a western; it's an archetype that, in fiction, in drama, spans genres. This show has that feel, the fearless leader, strong and tough, but tender and insecure inside. Corny and over-the-top? Yes, but I can't turn it off.

It makes surprisingly compelling teevee. I knew I was hooked when I went looking for it in my TiVo to see if I had any episodes. And I knew I was in trouble when I started to wonder if I could get the first season on DVD. Stop me, please.

Sigh. This is the last one. Promise. No more reality teevee.

[made with ecto]

I'm just aching to write something and I can't seem to find the time.

I've read a few very good pieces of erotica lately that friends have sent me, and looked at some tasty pictures, and I feel incredibly inspired. I want to write something short and direct without getting over-involved in the plot and characters, which is my typical failing. I get too ambitious about writing some complicated character piece and the sex becomes secondary.

I'm there, right now. I'm ready to do it. And I can't seem to find a couple of un-interrupted hours to get down and write. I can't do fiction in little bites, I need to find the zone and go, and keep going until it's done.

A couple of blogger friends recently sent me fan mail about some of my previous work, and it's both inspirational and intimidating. I can do it, I'm reminded, I can write. But have that garp problem of writing something I now feel I have to live up to.

When I started this blog (fuck me, is it a year and a half ago already?), it was to be about writing. It's in many ways gone far afield of that. I need to get back there and get something done that I can publish, if only here.

[made with ecto]

This.

Thanks Ray.

[made with ecto]

...You'll buy me this poster:

And if you know why this connects to my domain name, I love you even more than I do now.

(remind me not to blog when I've drunk way too much sake)

[made with ecto]

Phone Sex from the Big D:

The Walt Disney Internet Group and Sprint have announced an agreement through which Disney will create a national U.S. wireless phone service specifically designed for families. The service, called Disney Mobile, will use the Sprint Nationwide PCS Network and is slated to launch next year. Disney Mobile plans to offer wireless voice service, exclusive handsets and a package of features and applications including a range of entertainment content for the family.

[ from BoingBoing, of course ]

I'm suddenly picturing phone sex with Minnie. Hot talk with Ariel. Or maybe man-man(dog?) action with Goofy. Just wait, I'll do my Goofy impression on this one, it'll slay you.

C'mon, Mouse. There's money to be made.

[made with ecto]

The cost of the three day weekend - the monday-on-tuesday, where everything we put off last week because of the weekend is now urgent and behind schedule.

I'd like to say I spent my weekend writing. I'd like that to be true. Instead I spent saturday doing not a fucking thing, just recovering from a long week. I meant to go out and see a band but never made it out. Sunday, I decided to do a few things to get my backyard ready for a BBQ and then wound up deciding to undertake a major landscaping project, emptying out a very large number of planters and containers for re-planting. I wound the day up sweaty, grubby, making several trips to the local garden center for plants and dirt.

I later rewarded myself with some very good margaritas.

Sunday I put on a BBQ, for about three times as many people as I expected. Which was fine, because there was beer, and other consumable substances which enhanced my mood. And by pure luck, my BBQ was broken (ok, I knew it was broken, the luck was in having the parts out of stock everywhere in town), which means that instead of cooking, we ordered.

...and a good time was had by most.

I have a lot of snippets of things to write about, but no time today. The scripts I thought I fixed last week are broken again, the docs I meant to work on over the weekend, I ignored, and I now have a web-slave intern to train.

I need a vacation. It's been almost a year since my last trip, to Fiji, and I am slowly going out of my mind.

[made with ecto]

My favorite body jewelry maker, Body Circle, is having a pretty good 20% off sale on everything through July.

If you're looking for some of the more expensive stuff, big rings or 14k gold rings, it's a pretty decent savings on some very, very good quality jewelry. I have a 1/2" 8ga gold ring from them, and I've been wanting another. I just might give in and get one...

[made with ecto]

This rocks:

http://www.fluxview.com/v/RNC/gopconstrm.mov

But someone needs to do a mashup of it and give it a beat.

Instead of BadgerBadgerBadger we could be walking around saying TerroristTerroristTerrorist

[made with ecto]