Over the hills and far away

In the words of my good friend Douglas Adams:

“I love deadlines. I like the funny whistling sound they make as they fly by.”

And boy do they fly by.

Even without all this school horse shit living my life is a full time job. Between feeding, grooming, cleaning, playing WOW, training capoeira, rocking out, making capoeira videos, planning Quint-A-Palooza 2005, and keeping this god damn thing even moderately up to date, it’s a miracle I have time to sleep. Add a steaming shitload of programming on top of that and something’s gotta give.

I am not, obviously, a praying man. For those of you that are, though, feel free to beseech your deity of choice to grant me some sort of miraculous escape from my academic woes, like a record deal or psychic powers.

Do you ever, like, make up ridiculous scenarios at weird times? Just off the wall shit that would never happen?

I was riding on the bus home, sitting in traffic (SLO traffic = 3 cars at a stop sign), when I start actively hoping the fat dude across from me would pull out an MP-5 just so I could bust some shit. Kick him in the throat, wrestle the gun away, just something to spice up the day, ya know.

Of course, it didn’t happen. The dude got so weirded out with me glaring creepily over my sunglasses and cracking my knuckles that even if he had an MP-5 tucked away in his Jansport he’d probly just jump off at the next stop to get away from the strange fucker across from him, going in search of safer public transportation to hijack.

For the record: Pseudo-scientific 1970’s Ecofeminists are a trip. Read The Descent of Woman if you’re ever, well, stranded on an island with it or something. It’s out there. Nothing like a little warped cetacean-feminism to prove that women are nuts.

Homecoming is this weekend, so I’ll have to get all pumped up and show my school spirit by doing the exact same shit I do every other weekend. Go mustangs.

Serious work on the SLO capoeira video starts this Saturday, with production shooting beginning down at Avila. We’re not too sure exactly what we’re gonna put on there, but we know it’ll be capoeira and cool and riddled with inside jokes. With classics like Damn!, Thin Plot, and CKY as our inspiration, plus the twisted minds of NFP as the directing staff, I’m sure it’ll be magnificent.

Quint ate the last Oreos.

Fuck, I really wanted an Oreo.


Well it’s becoming painfully obvious to you and I both that I don’t have much to say tonight, so I’m gonna get back to my burdens. If things keep up like this, where so much of my time is absorbed in meaningless drivel like schoolwork, I’m just gonna start making shit up to keep this damn thing worthwhile. Stories about how our Venezuelan neighbors’ meth lab blew up at 4 AM taking out half a city block, our house being saved miraculously by its armor of lead paint and asbestos. Maybe I could tell about how I went out with this Graphic Design major last Friday but she turned out to be a moose, or some shit. Who knows. We’ve both seen the mangled atrocities of outlandishness I can pull out of the non-fiction parts of my mind, who knows what we’d dredge up if the premise of authenticity was dropped. As fascinating as I’m sure it is to hear me whine about my academic ineptitude, you’d probably much rather hear about back-alley knife fights and elaborate kidnapping pranks perpetrated on the elderly, whether the stories were true or not.

You greedy scum.

You invent something, like inward singing.

And then I’m out.


I just learned Marvin Gaye was shot to death by his own dad, who was a minister. What the hell is wrong with people? Who shoots Marvin Gaye? What kind of a thing is that to do?


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