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the Crawling Chaos' Journal

Monday, April 6, 2009

1:09AM - Is Carlos Condit trying to tell us something?

I know he's the former World Extreme Cagefighting welterweight champion. I know he could beat my ass black and blue without trying. And I know it's commonplace nowadays for professional athletes to adorn their outfits with sponsor logos as if they were human Nascars. All I'm saying is that, heterosexual or not, a man ought to think of the implications before he appears on national television with "Condom Depot" plastered across his ass...

Current mood: selective about butt logos

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

12:48AM - counterproposition 8

It's close, and the Yes on 8 camp has the edge. If proposition 8 does indeed pass, it seems it will be due in large part to the children. The recurrent message I hear from tentative proponents on the radio, in articles, and on the news is that they have nothing against gays, but they don't want kids to learn about gay marriage in school. If you have nothing against gays, why do your kids have to be sheltered from it? Stop fooling yourselves. Why don't we legislate that other things we don't like can't be taught in California? Let's amend all copies of the Diary of Anne Frank in school libraries to have a happy ending. Let's abolish slavery... from the history books.

Some of the proponents are ready to celebrate their victory. I say let's make it a Pyrrhic one. I think that every legally wedded homosexual couple in California should show up outside an elementary school while the kids are being dropped off, and make out. Wear your rings, if you exchanged any. Don't do anything that can be considered obscene. Just make sure the kids see you. Make sure they have something to talk to mommy and daddy about when they get home. Hell, a bunch of couples should go on tour. "We're here! We're queer! Now get to class!"

12:30AM - 08AMA!

Yes we can... Yes we did.... Yes we will.

Current mood: W0OT

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

1:16AM - Damnation

So your life, such as it is, has stabilized... some might say it's reached a plateau, others might see it as a minor rut. You've finally finished school again, you've landed a decent paying job that you don't hate, and you feel ready to move on with life. You save some money up and start looking for a little place to call your own. You treat the folks out to dinner, help them with their bills, help pay off the lil sis's ticket home for the holidays. You try to accrue some good karma and pay off some spiritual debts. You're settled into your routine, yet still trying to make improvements and hoping for good things around the corner...

And then it all comes crashing down.

Mom had another stroke Friday. It's been about ten years since the first two. I got home really late and she was already in bed. Saturday she slept really late, but woke up to talk to my sis, who noticed the slurred speech and slight confusion. She called dad and told him to take her to the emergency room... but he didn't go in to see the doctor with her. She was too confused and too in denial to properly describe the situation, so she came home with medication for a stomach ailment. She slept most of Saturday, but I was napping throughout the day too, and again, didn't have much direct contact with her. When she was heading to bed, I noticed how badly her balance was off, and how a couple of times she used the wrong words trying to talk to me. And I knew then. I had to know. I'd been in denial too, up to that point. She'd been sick lately. She slurs more and gets confused when she is very tired. But not like this. I tried to get her to go back to the hospital with me but she refused. She fought me harder than anything. Then she promised to go in the morning. So I let it go. It had been nearly 24 hours, and there would be no way to reverse any damage that had been done. Dad and I brought her in Sunday and stayed five and a half hours to have our fears confirmed and be told there was nothing to do but go see her regular doctor Monday. He says there's nothing to be done but go see a neurologist... we'll see what he has to say.

I've given up my apartment search. I can't leave dad to deal with this alone. I can't leave mom like this. I'm praying that with therapy she'll regain some independence, but right now I'm afraid of what the future may bring.

Current mood: bleak

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

4:54PM - Inside the mind of the Ryanimator

John Stewart of the Daily Show said in an NPR interview that it's not that you are TRYING to be funny. It's just how your mind works. The difficult thing is keeping it under control enough to get by in normal society.

ITYTSICTYT: I fell asleep watching Court TV. Woke up this morning to read a headline about "Police accused of beating a bi-racial man". So immediately I wondered, smirking, "Did they beat him half as long, or hit him half as hard?"

Saturday, September 18, 2004

4:26AM - Needed: a Life

I'm in the 'scope labs all day. If I'm not, then I'm in the library reading about how the damn things work. I've given up ALL my free time this last week to look for work and can't find anything. So I stay in school. And I've got no girl, and seemingly no possibilities for one. It's a miserable existence. What else can I do?
I am the smartest person in two of my classes. By a wide margin. What does that matter, if I can't find a job? Nobody gives a damn about your grades in the real world, and I know it.
"How the hell did you do so well on that test?" my classmates ask. Well, while you guys were partying and getting laid this weekend, I studied. Over labor day weekend after my buddies went to sleep, I studied. While I'm eating lunch by myself, I study. I am an academic machine. And I'm tired of it. Good lord, am I tired of it.
I'd transfer my points to any of the cuties in the class who'd go out with me if I could.
"You're so lucky," they say. I have a facility for memorizing facts and making educated guesses. Maybe I was lucky to be born with it, but I've honed it over a lifetime. I've worked at it. It ain't all luck. And it ain't worth much.
I'd rather be a talented guitarist. Or six inches taller and white. I'm tired of being where I am, wishing I were where I'm supposed to be.
I'll probably be paying off my student loans for the rest of my natural life. It wasn't worth it. That's what I tell all my young cousins. That's what I'll tell my nephews when they can understand me.

It wasn't supposed to be this way...

Saturday, September 11, 2004

2:17AM - A...S-S...H-O...L-E (*everybody!*) A...S-S...H-O...L-E ...!

So I got home late last night from reading about SEM theory in the library. Dad had been drinking again. For some reason he decided it would be tremendously fun to antagonize me. "I'm think I'm definitley gonna vote for Bush..," he slurred. "I mean, I'm doing pretty good. Got a good job. Maybe he'll help you fin' one, too."

All I could do was sigh and go tend to the dishes in the sink. I wasn't going to get into an arguement with him over something he doesn't even really believe. He got his fucking job during the Carter administration, after all. But he had to come up to the kitchen to razz me some more. And all I can do is wash dishes, grit my teeth, and wonder....WHY?

Is this the kind of relationship he wants with his son? Does he like to see me pissed off? Is he looking to start a confrontation? All I did was walk in the door. Hadn't said anything to set him off, hadn't looked at him funny. I don't understand it.
He does this a lot. Usually when he's drunk, which is a lot. I usually try to avoid him. But I want to know why he does it. If I ever confronted him about it when he's sober, he'd deny it. "You're makin' that up. I don't do that." Just like he does when we tell him about the other things he does when he's been drinking.

My brother is one of the most doting, affectionate father's I've seen. I, on the other hand, am contemplating never having children of my own. I think we both owe that to you, dad. But I don't think either of us would thank you for it.

Saturday, August 28, 2004

1:55AM - Patrick Swayze was wrong....

... when he said, "Pain don't hurt."
I haven't had a good night's sleep in months. It's really gotten bad this last week. My back's been messed up since the car accident months ago. Lately I've got tight knots in it that make it impossible to lie down comfortably. So I'm sleep deprived at school all day. And I'm always hurting.
I've been to physical therapy, the treatments didn't seem to do much, but they helped a little. I went as long as the physician had prescribed. The insurance agent for the guy who hit me was getting on my case. "According to my charts, you should have healed by now." I cannot summon strong enough language to convey my contempt, so I'll simply respond with a "FUCK YOU".
Your God damned client left his car parked IN NEUTRAL on a steep hill. It hit me hard enough to TOTAL my car, which was at a COMPLETE FUCKING STOP. They don't make charts to measure that kind of stupid.
I can't sit at my computer and work for long periods. I can't go on car trips without pulling over every hour. I can't study without pain and discomfort derailing my thought processes. I can barely make it through a movie in the theaters. And I don't sleep well.
I'm not milking this for a big settlement. I just want to stop hurting. Ideally, I'd like to be returned to the state I was in before I got hit with an empty car. I'm not going to settle with them until I've done my damnedest to achieve that.
That's all I want. To stop hurting. To sleep at night, without tossing and turning and waking up over and over. And I'd like to shove the insurance agent's fucking medical charts up his ass and set them on fire...

Current mood: Achy

Thursday, August 5, 2004

2:30AM - WHoWhatWhenWhyWhere?

Had fun magic weekend wit' da boys. Acted to offset bummed out feelings regarding aunt Doris' funeral. Offset isn't quite right... postpone perhaps. Since I've been back I've been sleeping too much, and working on the slot machine commercial. School session begins all too soon. Not looking forward to it. Am hoping to spend another week out at Professor Charlie's before then. My bro and his wife have successfully reproduced again. The circle of life continues.

Friday, March 26, 2004


It ain't easy livin' like a gypsy....
Tell ya honey, how I feel.
I've been dreamin'
Floatin' down the stream and
losin' touch with all that's real.

Friday, August 29, 2003

5:03AM - God bless the Great Satan...

Back on american soil. Have been for awhile. Paris was ... an experience. I wish I had had my own space, just for awhile. And I wish we'd been able to avoid the big heat wave that killed 10,000 French. Will transcribe notes from sketchbook one of these nights.
I'm visiting Prof H..... It's a vacation from my vacation, as it were. I'm enjoying it. Wish we were closer geographically, I'd visit more oft.

I was talking to my sister on the phone and she was laughing. A bug flew into her mouth and she swallowed it. Think I dislocated a rib laughing.

Current mood: american [and unemployed]

Saturday, July 26, 2003

1:19AM - Out to French

In 3 hours we begin the journey that will eventually land us at my sister's place in France. I hope this trip goes well. My family often doesn't travel well together. Mentally crossing fingers. Back on the 15th or so.

Tuesday, July 22, 2003

11:35PM - Left in San Francisco

My last post from SF. After I write this, I'll go get my car and start loading it. I'll miss SF, for some reason. Even though I hate it.
My first chance to really be on my own. The place where I would finally find my place in the world. The beginning of the glorious adventure of grown up life, where all the hard work and consequent self-denial finally, FINALLY paid off.
That is what SF represented to me. That is what failed to happen. There is no reward for a lifetime of hard work. The people here are cliquey, pretentious, rude, spoiled, and oblivious to it.
I didn't do any of the touristy things because I never had any money. And I never had anyone to do that stuff with. Except Jessica.
I found and lost the love of my life here in San Francisco. I still think about her. Every day. And every day, I die a little more.
San Francisco. A lovely place, by all accounts. The few girls I've dated always had plenty of stories about the extravagant excesses of the City by the Bay. Of course, they never paid for anything. My married friends always have lots of excursions to fill their weekends with. But if your a single guy, without a lot of money in this market.... San Francisco absolutely, undeniably, sucks.
I wasn't even happy on my last day of work. I'm not moving on to a better job or anything. I'm going back to mom n' dad's. It's not a step up. The folks at work gave me a card. Lots of people stopped by my post to say goodbye. Some jokingly offered to hold a protest outside my place to keep it from being bulldozed. I got a hug from the cute redhead, who has been given the supervisor responsibilities on the weekend afternoons. I hope she can handle it. "I haven't been training a partner. I've been training a replacement." That's from Men in Black, yo. Snoogans.
I was on the way to the grocery store in the Sunset, taking a less crowded side street one block over from the main road I would usually take. And I could see down the hill all the way to the beach. So I kept going until I reached it. I just sat there on a rock, staring at the ocean and the sky and the people for about an hour.

I hate this place. I wish I could stay.

Current mood: yearning for more out of life

Wednesday, July 9, 2003

2:14AM - Fantastic

I used to love the Fantastic Four. My brother and cousins had old stacks of Lee/Kirby issues and reprints that I was allowed to read through. I really liked John Buscema's first run on the series. The FF were just bursting with imagination. Weird concepts, races, worlds and dimensions.
The best guy to helm Marvel's flagship title is almost universally considered to be John Byrne. I was... am ... a huge Byrne fan. He captured the feel and energy of the old time FF while bringing them up to a new artistic standard.
When Byrne was gone, I stuck around awhile. I could afford to do that back then, when comics hovered around the dollar mark. Eventually my interest waned and I dropped the book.
I went back a bit when the legendary Walt Simonson took up the reins for an arc or two. But he didn't have the right feel for the characters' personalities, though he told a good cosmic menace story. I also picked up Arthur Adams' 3 issue or so run, which was mostly all about the guest stars. And I tried the first few issues of the Heroes Reborn effort. Bottom line, no one ever got the chemistry right for Marvel's first family.
Until Mark Waid. Waid is one of my top ten comic writers.* Those are the guys I will follow to little indie companies or off to esoteric little side projects. I'll pick up a book having no idea what it's about if it's by one of these folk, because I think they're that good. I don't pick up EVERYTHING these guys do, cuz some of them are pretty damn prolific. But I've lucked into some neat stuff. Astro City. Empire. Transmetropolitan. Sandman.
So Waid took over the FF with their special 9 cent issue. It was a self contained story, featuring great artwork by Mike Weiringo. I read it. I loved it. I read it again. I headed out to one of my many comic shops *that week* to pick up any subsequent issues [my first Waid issue was already a few months out of the gate]. I've bought 'em all. Some of the best buys I've made in recent years. Enjoyed the hell out of them. And the letters page seemed to universally hail Mr. Waid as the best since Byrne. And I agreed. Waid had made me an eager fanboy again.
Then, leaving another comic shop last week with friend Ray, I found that Waid was to quit FF. After only a half dozen issues. I was very disappointed. I read a column from Marvel's EIC laying out their side of the split. Apparently Marvel's President had suggested a change in direction that Waid didn't agree with, so Waid quit.
Thus ends the new Golden Age. Dammit. Mark Waid seemed to be really excited about taking over FF. His work was good, and it was being more than well-received. When you've got that ephemeral commodity- a GOOD writer, who GETS it- on your book, you keep him until the wellspring of inspiration begins to at least sputter. Let Mark Waid do the Fantastic Four the way Mark Waid does the Fantastic Four, and when he's had his say, THEN suggest your "new direction for the book" to the subsequent creative team.
Waid's already doing some new Superman project over at DC. The moment has passed. Like the phone call Eric Clapton almost made asking to join the Rolling Stones. Creative harmonics are so transient, moreso when corporate politics and marketing strategies are thrown into the mix. And the fans are poorer for it.

* Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, Kurt Busiek, Christopher Priest, John Byrne, Matt Wagner, Mark Waid, and that bastard Garth Ennis.

Current mood: Deprived

Tuesday, July 8, 2003

5:06AM - Who the FUCK names their child Clovis?

Holiday weekend was nice. Saw T3, spent too much money taking Ray out for his birthday. Saw fireworks down the hill as we were stuck in traffic. Shot some pool once parking was obtained. Saturday, played a Magic the gathering roleplaying experiment implemented by Jade and Dommer. More fun than I usually get on a given weekend.
At work, a very stripper-y looking woman wearing a tiny outfit, and her shirtless, chest-waxed boytoy husband wanted to complain about their upstairs neighbors making too much noise. They went on for about five minutes, I tried to pretend I cared whilst trying to avoid ogling. I placated them and went about my day.
Twenty minutes later security receives a frantic phone call from [what turned out to be] the upstairs neighbor. They reported a crazy man with no shirt kicking their door, shouting at them. By the time I got there, of course the 'roid-raging little monkey had run back downstairs. I calmed the two very frightened chinese girls down, told them to call if there were any further problems, passed by lower level to see what was going on, then went about my day.
Ten minutes later, the same thing happened. I talked the girls out of calling the cops. I was gonna call the building manager myself and talk to him, but my supervisor said since I hadn't actually seen it I should just write up a report. So I did. But I kept going back trying to catch him. I almost asked the girls to run the disposal unit in their sink [which seemed to be triggering Clovis' little outbursts] while I waited at the end of the hall. If it happens again next week, I'm definitely springing a trap on the pretty boy douchebag. I'd sooooo love to take him down.
Played like shit at volleyball. Don't know what factors I'm not taking into account. I was rested. I'd eaten a good meal, but not any time close to game time. I'd ingested 2 advil and a half a clif bar. Could not get it going. No hops, no pop. Actually now that I think about it, the gym was pretty cold. And most of my teammates could not pass to save their lives. Those 2 things would definitely drag my play level down. But there's something else. A lack of intensity. Meh. Hope I can figger it out by Wednesday night.
I'm building a building. Easy enough. It's the texturing that sucks leprous necro-cock. I hate texturing more than any other aspect of 3D production. Back to it. Anti-yay.

Tuesday, July 1, 2003

1:03AM - Lightning in a bottle

Wish I could feel the way I feel on the courts all the time. I'm fast. I'm skilled. I'm confident. I feel no pain. I'm there, in the moment. My mind is not on all the stupid little problems in my life. And it's the one place on EARTH that I am better than the guys around me. If there were any single chickies there I might be able to impress them. I am not the volleyball Allen Iverson. I'm more the vball Jason Kidd.
So I'm playing 3 times a week now. I'm hurting a hell of a lot. I am pushing myself really hard because I know I won't get to play for awhile once I move. I don't know if I'll be able to find any good indoor games in the valley.

Of course, now that the adrenaline has worn off, I'm in a world of hurt. Some new guy dove after the same ball I was after and he ended up crunching my knee. It's bruised, but no serious damage thankfully. I should be fine to play Weds. Then Thurs. And maybe I can find a game on Sat. I'm a junkie, a damn no good junkie.

Current mood: D'oh, the pain of it all!

Monday, June 30, 2003

12:56AM - Crazy Bitches

I have an effect on women. I had to call Michelle from the leasing office to help me with this stoned-out-of-her-brain, semisonscious whackjob in the laundry room. The girl was having man-issues. She was upset that I was there, so I had to leave Michelle to deal with her. Mich talked the girl out of the laundry room and got her onto the elevator back to her apartment. There was a poor male bystander on the elevator. The whackjob growled at him. She kept growling at him until he got off the elevator.
'Nother day at work, some homeless woman came up to me, ranted nonsensical stuff at me, blamed "my kind" for taking money from "her kind". Then she started throwing stuff around, so I had to chase her out of the building and across the street.
Talking to Michelle later, she commented on how crazy these women were behaving. "What you don't realize is that, to us guys, you're all like that..." :P

Current mood: mysoginistically sarcastic

Saturday, June 21, 2003

11:24PM - Ryanimator Smash!

Saw the Hulk today. Pretty good. Ang Lee really tried to tell an actual story. Fucking great animation. Better than in ReLoaded. Quite a lot better, IMHO. Of course, they didn't have to deal with the deformations and movement of clothing, which was one of the stumbling blocks for the Matrix in my eyes.
I have Hulk Hands! Yay! They make smashey noises and roar when I hit things. Cooool. They're both right hands, but that's OK. Thanks to cartoonboy for the endlessly entertaining gift.

Current mood: Smashing!

11:14PM - the Sign

To all my dearest friends who may read these words: If there is, as I suspect, a large sign on my back that says "Tell me about your sex life and bitch to me about your boyfriend," please tear the damn thing off. It's not funny anymore.

So the cute redhead at work has decided to regale me with tales of drama. Her, her boyfriend, their mutual friends... she occasionally asks me "Why does he do that?" I don't really have an answer. I was never as dumb or out of control as her man is. I've always kept a semblance of control and understood that my actions have consequences. I have never bragged about getting laid or played headgames with anyone. I don't understand people who do.
She mentioned she'd found porn in his closet and she was surprised they were all white girls.
"Why, what's he?"
"Does it matter?[wry smirk]"
"Doesn't matter to me. Just wondered because of the way you said that."
However, even as I was answering her, what I really wanted to say was brewing in the back of my skull and stuck with me. It's really what I SHOULD have said:

"Honey, I don't care what you fuck if you ain't fucking *me*."


Current mood: "it's funny cuz it's true"

11:09PM - First to Fall

I've been gone awhile... One of the boys got married two weeks ago. Went down to LA for the ceremony, which was entirely in Cambodian. Pretty simple, there was a more elaborate ceremony held overseas before, this one was for legal recognition in the states. I hope it works out.
Spent the weekend at the Prof's house, which is located at a nice halfway point between the valley and LA. Listened to excerpts of the new Weird Al album. Funny stuff.
Wonder if there's any good mail-order bride services in my price range....

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