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dutch_mofo
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Name: Andrew
Country: United States
State: Oregon
Metro: Portland
Birthday: 12/15/1982
Gender: Male
Interests: I won't even say music...but...well...music, dog house bass (sometimes you gotta slap a bass and let her know she's a ho), books that are hard to get through, making eye contact, foreign markets, Mr. Sketch markers, sofa change, falling in love
Expertise: Well, i actually used to have Atlas's job. But i was getting old, and holding the world up just got to be too much stress for me. That, and the pay was shite. Atlas won't last long though. Fucking pansy...
Message: message me
Member Since:
7/22/2005
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| So there's this guy at my place of business who has this...how do i put it...he hates "niggers." And by his definition, niggers are the black people of this world who have no intentions to do anything except sell drugs, bother the police and drag the economy. I've spent alot of my own free time (which, at work is most precious) trying to convince him that such characteristics are not, in fact, limited to african americans. In my opinion, it's personality rather than race that is to blame.
So tonight i had kind of a bad night. I won't go into details, but i felt like it would be a good thing to buy alot of beer and drink it someplace other than my house. So i did. I bought a twelve pack of high life and went to a little park down the road. There was a tall black kid in front of me in line at the plaid pantry, and he paid for whatever and left. I too paid and left. He met some friends of his outside and they started walking behind me.
They followed me all the way to the park and sat down on the curb near my bench. I had three different interactions with these kids: One time, they asked me if i had a cell phone. Next they asked me if i knew what time it was, and last one of them told me he was "gonna take a piss in em bushes." After awhile a car pulls up and they talk to him for a bit and he drives off. They walk off somewhere for a while and i keep drinking. I'd finsished maybe three beers at this point. Then they come walking back and start towards me. They keep walking towards me with an abundance of eye contact and a lack of verbalization, which i remember from high school as meaning "we're going to fight you." There's four of them and at least three are bigger than me, so i get up and start hoping i can work some kinda kung-fu magic. Then they just grab my remaining beer and leave.
I threw my remaining beer bottle at them and yelled something unintelligible, but i really wasn't that pissed. At least not about the stolen beer. I was pissed that i had spent so much of my time arguing to different people about equality and how different people can be equally shitty and do equally shitty things, only to have these kids come along and strengthen the arguments of these fucking bigots. They talked to me three different times and not once did they ask me for a beer. Or to buy them some of their own, which i would've gladly done.
I still beleive what i beleive, there was nothing in this situation that could really dissuade me. And i definitely think they enjoyed it more than i would've. Hey underage drinking is just more fun. But now when i make my arguments (hopefully not for a long time) i'll have this in the back of my mind: That one night there were four black kids who would rather steal my beer than ask me for one. I am disappointed. | | |
| beer bottles...dirt...firewood reluctant to burn...damn i'm feeling philosophical tonight. I hate sundays for that. I think Calvin (& Hobbes) said, "any day where you have to take a bath is not part of a weekend." Fuckin-A. Whether you work a monday-friday type of job or whether your days off are determined by those ominous "labor hours," friday and saturday will always be the pre-destined pressure release valve of the seven-day-week.
Who came up with that shit, anyways? Wasn't it the Aztecs who drew up calendars for every year up to like 2012 or something? They chose seven days and i have a hard time beleiving that anyone mapping out the next 600 years would choose anything as arbitrarily as that. Every day has a personality that you can almost count on. It might be different for other people, but here's how it boils down for me:
Monday- shitty, groggy, want it to be over. Tuesday- still kinda groggy, but with a pleasant dash of that fuck-you-i'm-gonna-have-a-good-time-anyways arrogance. Wednesday- halfway through and feeling strong, but now there's no point in your daydreams about time-traveling back to that freedom laced saturday morning of yore. It's point of no return time. And what the fuck is with that weird spelling? Thursday is that time in first grade when you still didn't have firm grasp on bladder control, and no matter how frantically you waved, moaned and made overly dramatic sighs, Teacher still wouldn't let you go to the bathroom. You waited and you waited, but in the end all you got was an embarrassing puddle and a new nickname. Friday- The wall. You're Joshua. You've beaten Goliath and now all that stands between you and one more glorious victory can be wiped out with a little courage, a pinch of brains and a whole lot of patience. Oh, and an army might help too. Saturday- Now you've got yourself a nice tidy row of x's with which to further decorate your "chix ontoppa cars" wall calendar. One row closer to the next holiday/goal deadline/welfare check/paid vacation/hot date/whatever. Today you're closer, so fucking celebrate and leave the regrets to that lazy wet blanket called sunday. Sunday- you woke up this morning and heard a faint "click" like something popping into place. That was the sound of remember when. Everything you've done in the past week has moved into the temporary realm of the anecdote. Sort of a halfway house for memories. Now you'll pick and choose which newsworthy items you'd like to keep around for awhile. Good or bad, funny or no, reality checks, heart breaks, bliss, debauchery...they all happened somewhere during those damn seven days. Put them away and get ready for some more. | | |
| Is it wrong to apologize for terribly dramatic blog entries? I hadn't written in here since fucking labor day, and then it was drunk, depressing and littered with misspellings. I could just take it off and be rid of the embarrassment, but somehow that seems against the rules. I wrote it, i gotta deal with it. So now it's time to make up for it with happiness, fun and spellcheck!!!
Last month my friend Jacob found himself with no place to live and due to my ever-fucking-bleeding heart, i invited him to stay here until such time as he could find a place to live. I thought it'd be about two weeks or so, but at the end of the month he still hadn't found anything and my roommate Kathryn had decided to move out. Desperate for money, we agreed to have him take her place for a month and cover her end of rent. Not exactly an ideal situation for either of us (jacob and i lived together before and pretty much hated each other's guts) but it was that or go live with a bunch of coke heads. However, as a thank you he gave us his Xbox and ever since our living room has been littered with the joyful explosions and screams caused by the Incredible Hulk and a little kill happy alien named Crypto.
The Incredible Hulk: Ultimate Destruction is one of the finest games i've ever played. There are three modes of play. Free roam, where you run around and destroy as much shit as you possibly can and earn smash points for move upgrades; Story mode with the hardest fucking missions i've played since Bart vs. the Space Mutants (remember the skateboard level *shudder*); And then Challenge where you get to do fun things like use a club to bat soldiers out across the ocean and stack cars up on top of buildings. His Critical Mass and Adrenalin moves are fucking crazy good, the graphics are amazing and the city is immense and full of good things to break.
We also got Destroy All Humans. Imagine, a game where you're an alien singlehandedly trying to prepare the Earth for conquest by your Furon Empire. Kind of an Ed Wood type plot set in 1950's suburbia with all the applicable repression and brainwashed ideals of the Ozzie and Harriet era. You're armed with all the goodies an alien should be afforded like psychokinesis, an anal probe that pushes people's brains out of their skulls while they talk about how it "actually doesn't hurt that bad", hypnotism, brain scans, the ability to disguise yourself as anyone you can see, and an assortment of kill-em guns. As well as a flying saucer that can dole out all the damage you'd need (we destroyed an entire city in about 15 minutes) with a death ray and a magneto beam for picking up hapless vehicles and passers by. It's almost impossible to die, and the missions are challenging without being impossible.
Now i think i have to find a point in writing about all this...i guess i kinda thought video games were done. I'd felt that ever since the Nintendo 64 came out and i tried to play the mario game that came with it. It looked really cool, but i didn't get involved in the story line like i had with so many other games. 007, Mario Kart...they looked good, but they were really pretty boring when it came down to it. Cool graphics don't compensate for feeling like you're in the game. But i think i might have just gotten kinda snobby. The technology is so good now and there are so many games inside of every game...I dunno...I saw her face. I'm a beleiver. | | |
| Tonight i learned what it is to taker a six-pack of tall boy's to the face. Tonight i leanred what it is to use the slide at Kennilworth park at midnight. Tonight i learned what it is to know you should know better than to procrastinate about paying a bill two months overdue. Tonight i learned how to spell tonight while all i'll i can think of is puking and passing out. Not until the gardenburger soaks up the alcohol though.... | | |
| Labor Day--September 05, 2005
The perfect day. High seventy-five, low sixty-eight not a cloud in the sky. Meagan and Kathryn have been wanting to make "country breakfast" for a long time, and i've really wanted to eat it. So we made biscuits and gravy, grits, eggs and sausage and ate like Ethiopians at a buffet. Then it was show time. My band had agreed to play a set for the Raymond St. block party as repayment for everybody dealing with our noise, and partly because of our deep affinity for our most neighborly neighbors Clyde and Kathy.
We were supposed to have practice around 10, but our guitar player decided to sleep in. He had a rough night. So he finally got here around noon, and we went over our covers and decided on a few of our originals, went over them a couple times, and called it good. And then we got dressed up, took some terrible pictures and started over to the party.
There were like 25 random neighbors at this long table and we were kinda late so all five of us ended up on one end and couldn't really communicate with anybody. Which was awkward because on top of that we didn't know any of them. But they all loved Kathryn's rainbow cake. Clyde and Kathy sat in the middle and occasionally yelled questions at us, and then finally they had us do this roundtable thing where we said who we are, where we live and what we "do". Kathryn got the grand prize for saying she was in college, and then immediately lowering her head and pouting. Hilarious.
They fed us and then we went up onto their lawn to do our thing. We set up on top of this hill, and they were down on the street. So that was a little weird, but we were hoping that they'd just talk over us anyways. But no, they pulled their chairs around the front of the table and sat expextantly while we stumbled through our set. Most of the songs went okay. We fucked up alot, but it's different playing covers than it is playing your own songs. We tend to know them a little less intimately and so we don't really watch ourselves for screw ups the same way. But they really seemed to like it. A few couples got up and danced which was cute beyond words. So i'd like to beleive it was fun all around.
Then it was time for drinking. A little early. 7:00 or so, but hey! This is how we roll. The sequence of events gets a little fuzzy here, so please bear with me. Amidst countless cigarettes and bottles of high life, jacob managed to beat the shit out of both me and kate. Although she definitely fared much better than i. There was a point in the evening when i decided to put my elbow through Kathryn's cake...well, decided isn't really the word...gave in to the temptation is much better. We explored a secret little closet in Kathryn's closet and found out that it's kind of a dropslot between her room and the bar downstairs, which lends more credibility to the idea that this house was once a speakeasy. I finally passed out watching Kill Bill around 12 or so, and nobody had the balls to write anything on my face. Which is good 'cause when you mess with the bull-you get the horns!!!
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