Writing gives me anxiety. I feel like I have restless body syndrome. Except not in my legs because I am lazy. I love sitting. And I love laying in bed even more. I’ll lay for hours and peruse Hulu and Netflix. (Well, not Netflix currently: I had to temporarily suspend it because of cutbacks). Hulu Plus still fits in the budget. The original subscription, of course. I look forward to affording the commercial free version someday. You got to have goals otherwise you stagnate. I think I’ll schedule it as my new years resolution.
Ultimately, I should cancel all of my entertainment subscriptions. I have become a consumer more than a producer. A couch potato; a bump on a log. A concept I used to ridicule when I was a young and virile skateboarder with health insurance paid for by my parents. But of course that was long before the internet or owning my own laptop. Hell, this was back when mobile phones had green screens and I was confused by a text message. (Why would my phone be asking me what I wanted to eat for dinner?)
But I digress…writing gives me anxiety.
[Loads Hulu Plus]
I am a cellphone salesman that sells no phones. I stand around inside of Target and think about how much my feet hurt in the shoes I have yet to buy more insoles for. I should get some expensive work shoes but that would cut into the money I spend on alcohol. The same alcohol I use to forget that I haven’t sold any phones.
The last insoles I purchased worked for 10 minutes. After that it was back to agony. I must keep walking around the electronics department to spare myself the pain. I am like a shark that must remain mobile or risk death. Well, in my case just annoying ankle pain.
I know where everything is in the electronics department for Target. Until a customer asks me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m the Mobile Rep. You should take a look at our great cellphone offers. We have the new Samsung Glowing Rectangle on sale for blah blah blah dollars…”
“I just need an Iphone suppository blah blah blah…” Says the customer
I am a cellphone salesman that sells no phones.
My phone alerts me that I have more spam email in my inbox. I decide to check it so it looks like I am doing something related to my job. It is an offer for a 3 night stay with full
accommodations in the land of Narnia. I don’t have the $400 dollars for that right now. My money is tied up in overdraft fees.
Another customer approaches with a bag in hand. It has the faint outline of a cellphone box inside. My mind races and my armpits start to sweat. I start to run excuses through my head: “I’m sorry Miss, my manager isn’t in today and must approve all returns and exchanges.” Or maybe I’ll sneeze on the phone and claim it has water damage and tell the customer to contact the carrier to see what options they can offer for replacement…
The customer removes it from the bag. It is a Prepaid cellphone. The clouds part and I cheerfully explain that we “unfortunately” cannot perform returns for prepaid phones in the electronics department. However, customer service upfront will gladly assist you up at the front of the store.
I am a cellphone salesman that sells no phones. I have yet to open the cash register program on my computer. I have been open for 4 hours.
I remind myself it is February. And it is Super Bowl Sunday and that the NFL has it in for me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket to signal it needs its fix. I proceed to hook it up intravenously to the wall outlet at my kiosk and stare at it enviously as it gets high while on the job.
I am a cellphone salesman that sells no phones.
I friend of mine invited me to check out this Chuck Norris Movie titled Silent Rage. He said he had a VHS copy of it and that if I didn’t act, I may miss out altogether because the likelihood of it being transferred to DVD was slim. What an endorsement! I asked him to summarize it. His response was that on a scale of 1 to 10 he would give it 9 roundhouse kicks to the face. This wasn’t because of its artistic perspective or anything. That scale just informs you of the condition your brain will be in after watching it. And since I am never one to pass on the opportunity to destroy some brain cells, I took the invitation. Besides, an evening with Chuck Norris rarely disappoints. Unless of course you are expecting Cinema Verite. (Don’t tell him I said that, I’ve seen what his beard can do).
On the day of viewing, we spent some time rounding up the necessary paraphernalia one needs when experiencing a movie of this caliber:
– 12 pack Natural Ice, check!
Bong, er, “waterpipe”,check!
-Snacks (mainly gummi in nature), check!
With all things accounted for, we pressed play, took a hit, and settled in.
Here is a quick plot summary: A Sheriff in a small midwest town is entrusted to hunt down a killer that has been re-animated post mortem by some doctors with a God complex. The killer can regenerate from wounds and for all intents and purposes, is “unstoppable”. Cue Chuck Norris…
From the synopsis above, you can most likely glean an understanding that this film was created primarily to insult the audience’s dignity and intelligence. The arc of the story played out in a fashion that is typical of movies of this fare. Beginning, Middle, 17-roundhouse-kicks-to-the-enemy’s-face-while-in-flames-invariably-sending-him-falling-to-his-death-down-a-well, and End. As expected, no pith in the subject matter.
Despite the film’s lack of compelling storytelling and integrity, It still managed to evoke a “What the Shit!” moment. A moment in which, we the audience, collectively freaked the eff out! A moment that, to this day, still unsure of its meaning, I get creeped out whenever I wake up in the middle of the night and think back to this particular scene my friends and I witnessed.
The scene itself is not too terribly discomforting. It consists of stock dialogue in the Chief-of-Police’s office, where Chuck Norris’ character attempts to persuade his superior that they need more firepower to combat the threat. Something stupid like that, I don’t quite remember because I was busy standing on the effing couch pointing at the TV!
Onscreen, in the Chief’s office, hanging on the wall was Picasso’s famous “The Old Guitarist”. It’s kinda creepy in its own right, but what got me was the fact that it was hanging on the wall in the living room where I was! Not only that, there was a tall houseplant situated right next to the painting in the corner of the room that was ALSO in the Chief’s office! The same effing plant! WTF!?
After we all freaked out for about the next 10 minutes, we took a breath (bong rips), and finished the movie. But all I could think about after that was the scene in The Ring when the drowned girl broke the fourth wall and exited the TV to take the lives of all in the room.
My friend was right. Silent Rage starring Chuck Norris will leave you feeling like you received 9 roundhouse kicks to the face, indeed.
When I was 18 I worked at video store. Yes, you heard that right, I said VIDEO store. Complete with VHS rewinding devices, late fees and teenage management. Also, we had free popcorn for the public! Yay! Free stuff! Now, as much as this salted-styrofoam confection got patrons to come in, most of it invariably ended up on the floor. This prompted the hiring of a “Lead Concession Specialist”. I assure you, every applicant did their darndest to pretend they knew what that was.
This was long before the term “instant queue” entered our shared lexicon. You were at the mercy of the outside world as you traversed across town to rent your next video odyssey. This was the “buffering” of the analog era. You had to leave your house and drive to another building and back before enjoying the contents of the precious magnetized tape housed within its slate black casing. And God forbid if that pimple-faced kid behind the counter forgot to use that store mandated rewinder!
Another benefit of our video chain was a drop box in the parking lot. This was great for our customer base but it primarily afforded men with trenchcoats and floppy hats a way to covertly return their recent installment of Battlestar Orgasmica, Shaving Ryan’s Privates or both. Usually both.
Yep, that’s right. We had an adult video section. The only one in town. Which, depending on who you asked, was something to be proud or ashamed of. Personally, I found it comedic that, in an attempt to minimize the shame, we provided black plastic bags to cover the smut until customers reached the counter. In reality the bags seemed to serve more like the “A” in The Scarlet Letter than a way to hide one’s video choice and I always savored the moments when neighbors, with starkly different evenings planned, would stand awkwardly in line.
I recently saw an article regarding a boy that discovered a mound of Whale Vomit that has been valued at an estimation of $60,000…
I’ll say that again: Whale Vomit?! $60,000!? …found?!
I started to think…
How did he know this was Whale Vomit? Why would he know it’s Whale Vomit? And what makes Whale Vomit so special to valued so high?! (By the way, Whale Vomit is now going to be the name of my new metal band).
As I read further I discovered that these “Bilious Deposits” (Album name), are used in the manufacturing of women’s make-up.
This is no surprise, as most are aware of the fact that we have used many other parts of whales to produce vanity products in the past. But the bumper sticker mindset of the 80’s and 90’s all but “put an end” to that vicious and inhumane industry *cough, (Right!)
As I was saying earlier, what is so special about Whale Vomit? What makes it better than Human Vomit? (punk band name?)
Why hasn’t the fashion industry used Human Vomit. It is undoubtedly prevalent. What with all of the models purging after every meal. Heck, practically after every bottle of water! Is it too diluted, maybe? I’m not an expert. But I do know that most fashion industry types, including models, eventually set their sights on their own line of make-up and perfume fragrances. It seems like a logical combination. Each fragrance could be modeled after the lunch or dinner that they ate! There is some real potential here…
I can see the product names now! Starting with….
The night started with a meetup at Yeti, a Nepalese restaurant in Glen Ellen CA. It was early evening and the setting was straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. The food was amazing (and free**) and quashed all my prior doubts regarding delectable meals prepared by the Himalaya’s indigenous “Abominable Snow Chef”.
After leaving Yeti with our lives and limbs intact, we then proceeded to downtown Sonoma CA to a bar titled Hopmonk. This immediately filled my head with images of a Hip-Hop Buddhist Chipmunk. Unfortunately, to my chagrin, that was not the theme the restaurateur chose for the establishment. Instead, they decided to go with intimate lighting, great beer, a good crowd and live music. Not a bad combination by any means as it infused us with a good vibes and a persuaded us to spend money on a “slice” of chocolate cake so amazing that even a picture of a sea lion can’t resist. Seen here:
Our next destination was any form of bar. It did not take long to find. We proved our worth with the bouncer and proceeded inside. My friend quickly discovered that the dj happened to be her UPS driver and went to over to him. I went immediately to the bar for another beer. I cannot sufficiently “back dat ass up” on any dancefloor without the proper dose of alcohol.
As I stood drinking and waiting for my inhibitions to secede, a petite blonde girl boisterously introduced herself…and her boyfriend…and his friend. I was surprised by their friendliness and later even more surprised and perplexed to find out that she asked my friend about my sexuality. I guess that is what I get for wearing a purple hoodie to a sports bar though. It was some of the strangest 25 minutes I’ve experienced at a bar.
Stay tuned for Wine Country Chaos pt. 2!
**The dinner was paid for by my amazing friends and I owe them, please do not arrive at Yeti Restaurant expecting free Tikka Masala. Pay for it and enjoy…