i was in the bookstore the other day and couldnt help but to notice the latest issue of maxim. well...gina decided to peruse through it and i realized that yep the content of maxim still hasn't changed since its first publication...what was it...five or six years ago?

now i understand that in our country today we still have prepubescent thirteen year olds who love to whack it to pictures of that one girl from that one commercial who is now starring in a music video (sorry kids the golden years of REAL centerfolds were the early maxim days), but still what about my demographic? what about those who actually WANT to read something interesting and entertaining short of the usual "what to do if a ten pound walnut falls on you while you're in africa" article?

my recommendation is for all of you to check out Esquire, I'm sure all of you have seen it on the newstands at one point or another, but next time do yourself a favor and pick it up.

i was fortunate enough to sign up for a free subscription about six months ago and i couldn't be happier. the articles are insightful and interesting...for example, one of the best articles i've read to date in any magazine was in the issue a couple of months back about a man who had accidently killed his best friend while fooling around with his mom's gun. the article was amazing, and when put in comparison with the latest maxim article on how to massage a girl's left boob....you can see where im going with this.

in addition to the well-written articles, are monthly columns such as "10 things you dont know about women" which is written by a woman celebrity every month. you can also find badass articles like the one about two months ago called "the twenty dollar theory of the universe" (or something like that). the article was about a journalist who wanted to see how much twenty bucks would get him...in bribing people that is. at the airport, the hotel, the nightclub, everywhere he went he had a wad of twenties that he would use to pay ppl off to get better seats, better service, to cut in line. or how about this month's "how to cuss, cheat, steal and lie" a collection of anecdotes on how to properly be a crappy person.

the main difference between these articles and similar ones found in maxim, is that the articles in esquire are actually thought out, as opposed to maxim's "who the hell cares just publish it anyway...besides they only want pictures" attitude.

now don't get me wrong, esquire has its share of centerfolds as well, but all centerfolds are portrayed in a very sexy, sophisticated light. think of it this way...its like comparing pabst blue ribbon beer to a fine scotch.

now im assuming that if you're reading this then you're not some prototypical frat pig who can barely read, cuz those are the ones who think that maxim is a "fine publication". actually, there are those who also like to subscribe to maxim to leave it lying out on the coffee table because they think its a sign of masculinity as well as a testament to how "cool" the individual is....but like i said before, unless you're thirteen...maxim is not cool anymore kid.

go get a copy of esquire and you'll know what i mean.

another favorite

he squinted...the rays of sunlight pierced into his eyes as he felt both pain and pleasure. he covered his face with his left hand, a cigarette in the right and opened his eyes as wide as possible to burn off what was left of his retina. a week before he swore that he saw an image in the sky...a girl...perfect in every regard. he stared up into the heavens until his eyes began to bleed, and simon had pulled him away, screaming something about staring into the sun. for a week they had him blindfolded in bandages, tears streaming down his face. the doctor had explained that that was a sign of healing, little did he know that it was from the pain of not being able to see....her.

he waited till they left for his cousin's soccer game.

tore off the bandages

and squinted

he stared

and stared

he could feel the burning sensation






she was there



that's how they found him









three hours later.





blind.










but smiling

















her image burned permanently into his brain.















4.13.2002.

2/3/02

the girl shrieked in excitement, and headed closer and closer.
one arm bent to her ear holding a phone, the other outstretched towards him. the raccoon could do nothing but scurry along
and blink.

2/1/02

i would do anything to be closer. to just be there. as a helping hand. as a reassurance.

but alas


i



remain




and that


shall be
my

pain.

1/26/02

slender fingers straddling the stem of an opaque goblet she sips her blood red wine allowing it to glaze over her lips. he was mesmerized and walked over relinquishing his body to her. she allowed her raven hair to cover an eye, and used her unobscured emerald gem to further entice him. he lifted her by the hips and her velvet gown bunched up where he held her. she exposed her neck to him revealing unadulterated sin. her room covered in satin and the finest silks seemed to harden as he ravaged her. the quiet mountain air torn and shredded by thunder and rain. the wine...the passion....she screamed in agony and pleasure as the candle lights flickered on and off in unison. echos......and echos......thin trails of blood and broken flesh on his back...pure.....evil....his weakness and lack of control transformed into anger and raw ability. her body gave one final shake and she lay....lay still on her satin sheets...."le petite morir" said lucifer.

and then there was nothing.

1/5/02
he sported diesel shoes,
a tag watch,
a belt from gucci,
jeans from versace,
a linen shirt from jean paul gaultier,
glasses from dolce and gabbana,
socks from hermes;
and he pays for it with the plastic
from his louis vuitton wallet.

1/7/02
the eucalyptus tree swung to the left as the uncanny gusts of wind threatened to pull it up from its roots.
the koala could do nothing but hold tightly.
and blink.

1/15/02
he had read about it in a book. he bookmarked the page. highlighted the sentence. wrote notes in the margin.
he walked through alleys. he dug through trash. he even asked the nice lady at the travel agency.
one day while searching at an amusement park he gave a kid a quarter and watched him play ms. pac-man.
the ducks told him nothing more than that he was a quack.
but he knew he wasnt.
the week before, a japanese waiter at the Peking Dragon told him to leave after he went through an entire barrel of fortune cookies...in bed.
he searched and searched...
where was his catharsis?

windy cobbled streets of civilization

leading to nothing

but everything

a broken weed

a ladybug

and you.

December 1, 2001

one my favorites from: 11/27/01

he had missed a spot. she could see on the side of his face, by his jaw a single hair that his mach 3 must have passed over. he had such a strong demeanor, not the most beautiful of faces, but waking to it would be pleasant. she scanned his face some more and took in the indents on his face....far from flawless...true, but still. was he still talking? sometimes he would just never shut up. she cleared her throat and looked at the ferris wheel. how would she respond to him? she liked him she couldn't deny it, but could there be a future? she bent down to pick up a quarter the five year old running in front of her had dropped. he had a crooked grin and replied "spank you" and scampered off...probably to the ferris wheel. he was still talking....she couldn't help but to feel sorry sometimes for the opposite sex. often times she had her mind made up from the very beginning, and rant and rant and rant. sigh...she wished that he would just shut up. she pulled her jacket closer to her body, the sun had begun to set. she needed time...how was she supposed to know what it was that she wanted? she was only nineteen and had so much more to experience. but still that girly anxiety creeped through at times and it made her more giddy than the girl working away at her caramel apple. the faint smell of kettle corn slithered its way to her and she wolfed it down. he stopped.

"well?" he asked.

"you missed a spot while shaving" she replied.

he could wait some more.

posts from back in the day: 11/19/01

he watered them. not with the usual bitter metallic water from the tap, but instead a solution that was eighty five percent water and fifteen percent brine shrimp. there were two of them in the terrarium. both made of five toothpicks each. like a happy stick figure couple. twice a day, once at nine in the morning, and then again at six in the evening he watered them. throughout the day he showed movies. well...home videos. the ten-fifteen showing was the first words....and then at eleven-thirty it would be the christmas play....at twelve forty five he would switch off between the little league game or the ballerina practice. as the sun began to set it would be the ritual bedtime story reel...and on speical occasions decorating the christmas tree, trick-or-treating....giving thanks. he turned away from the happy couple and a tear...a single tear rolled down his cheek and onto his van heusen shirt. one year....four months.....and five days.....one year....four months...and five days. what the fuck had happened? he catered his life to toothpicks. he fed toothpicks. he showed movies....to toothpicks.

randall and caitlyn.....he missed em so.

he would make them learn....they would learn....they would imitate.

and then he would not miss them any more.

posts from back in the day: 11/14/2001

she had seduced him. images of the previous night ran through his head like an old science reel on overdrive...what was it that got him? she was beautiful, that couldn't be denied, but it wasn't that. it was her aura. her jet black hair found its accomplice to crime in the midnight onyx dress that she wore...scratch that. the dress floated on her pale white slender body, the spaghetti straps (more like angel hair) seemed to levitate above her physical being. her green eyes were not human, but were feline in nature, they contrasted with her blood red lips which reminded him of the five thousand dollar bottle of wine he had shared with his wife three years ago. this was madness.

where did she come from? his memories were blurred like smears left behind by his papermate eraser. seventy-five....eighty....he pressed harder on the accelerator of his new saab. the mountain air was chilly but he preferred to leave the windows down to keep him alert. brief outlines of dark demons covered his face as the conifers blocked the full moon on this windy drive. where was she? he pressed even harder....eighty five...ninety. several of the buttons from his burberry's dress shirt had been torn off. visible scratch marks detailed his torso, but the only image that blared through his mind was the note that she had left.

"wisps of futility. 5/17/76"

her lipstick had been her marker as she repeated her message on all four walls...repeated as if grammer school punishment.

ninety five...one hundred. his european sports care seemed to have no trouble with the curvaceous roads of the upward spiral.

"bitch" he muttered under his breath.

she had seduced him.

posts from back in the day: 11/12/2001


he opened the drawer with such force that it nearly fell off its rollers onto the bathroom floor. "goddamn it" he muttered under his morning breath. he rummaged through the usual crap: nails, q-tips, pieces of scratch paper, matches, and...what the hell...a piece of moldy bread. he threw the starchy ecosystem into the bathroom wastebasket to mingle with the crumpled pieces of toilet paper, and proceeded with his investigation. "where the hell is it?" he sighed loudly as the first rays of sunlight invaded through the window above the shower, into his brown eyes. where the hell had his night gone? he paused for a moment and sat on the covered toilet...trying to remember how long it had been. with his elbows on his knees, his hands supporting his face, he stared aimlessly into the bathroom corner..."good god" amidst the plethora of various hairs on the floor was a daddy-longlegs creeping its way towards the shower stall. "fuckin spiders" he ripped off a sheet of his two-ply and pinched the bastard between his index and thumb. "go eat the bread asshole," and with that the arachnid was in the wastebasket. "fuck this shit," he closed the bathroom door and sat at the foot of his bed.

it had been nearly five years now. he wasn't really sure but he learned that any answer even if it were a lie would shut people up quicker than an honest "i don't know". he yawned and looked out the window. the world as he knew it was nothing more than a compilation, a collage of images outside his window. he wished to step outside, there were so many things that needed to be done. a hive of wasps could be seen in the upper right hand corner, and it always disturbed a neighboring sparrow's nest. he hated that. but...how would he function? five years had come and gone and he had yet to find his floss...his dental floss.
he knew what it was he wanted. johnson&johnson, glide, beechnut, he had tried them all and was never fully satisfied. there were so many options, waxed...unwaxed...mint...regular...cinnamon...wide...thin...and yet with all this where was the floss for him? he conceptulized the perfect dental floss...slightly waxed on one side, threads with perforated lengths of various flavors so that he wouldnt grow tired of the same and same, a perfect width so not to irritate his mild gingivitis.
"goddamn it" he muttered again and proceeded back to the bathroom. it had to be in here somewhere...that was what he had been told. all the shows on television: get a room, heart trauma, and dawson's girls . they all proclaimed that there was such a thing as perfect floss. "ow shit" the nail in the drawer bit him as payback for the constant rumbling. he sucked on his finger to draw out any possible infections and decided that this would be another fruitless attempt.
some time back he was a different man. he declared victory when he had first found the glide. its extra wax helped for a smooth flossing session. he quickly fell in love, and did nothing more than think about his floss. however, the extra wax on the thread allowed him to slip while flossing....he flossed so hard through the gap between his teeth, that he cut his gum. he bled for nearly six months. and he swore that he would never floss again. but by avoiding his daily dosage of aspirin, his blood soon clotted and he was good to go once more.

he knew what he wanted. he knew how the story went. and yet all he could see was that blasted hive of wasps. the poor sparrows...the sun cut through the bedroom window, and seperated his face into two halves. he sighed deeply...and proceeded back to the bathroom.

I'M BACK

Dear Faithful Reader,

I apologize for the abscence...well over a year now. I promised a new design that would blow you away, but unfortunantly that isn't about to happen.

Here you can expect to see more of the nonsensical stories, and theories of the old site, but this time there will be an emphasis on culture.

Culture meaning to include: music, movies, society, technology, and of course food.

What You Will Not See Here

You will never see any of that banal crap that xanga popularized. I'm talking about the whole "today was fun. i woke up at 12:00PM (im so lazy) and had coffee with jeff. jeff made a joke. it was funny. and then i went home"

faithful reader i promise to you i will never use this medium as some ego-centric means of detailing the not so intrinsic events of my life, but rather expect to see what you had grown to love before...cept better.

anyway enough of the crap...WELCOME BACK

I shall populate this site with some of my favorite posts from the past...and then throw in some new crap as well.

CHECK BACK OFTEN!