Rattled

Yesterday Los Angeles had an earthquake.  Not the big one per se, but a 5.4 which is big enough to make you prairie dog out of your cube, but weak enough to keep the kids at school.  What fun is a natural disaster if you still have to go to P.E.?

As some of you know I am fascinated when Mummy Nature gets feisty with homo sapiens.  We as a culture get all flustered and dash about asking anybody who passed 6th grade biology for a scientific answer to the age-old question: What does it all mean? Why did this happen to us?  And the media absolutely loves this stuff.  CNN gets a hard-on and has five video feeds over Anderson Cooper's head with that crawl telling us everything the video is saying only for those of us who are too giddy to listen. 

Even more, I love the You Tube invasion.  Check out this video  - Judge Judy was being filmed during the quake.  Watch as the honorable Judy shows no emotion on her face, as if that is even possible with all the work she has had done, and ducks under her styrofoam desk.  Bert is nowhere to be found.  The spectators scatter like insects and the plaintiff and defendant stand there with a "Wha...??" on their face.  Clearly they are not from the area.  I especially like cute bald guy's expression as if to say "I do so many drugs this shaking is normal for me. What's everyone fussing about?" This is all so priceless and is the reason why I love pop culture. I eat this shit up.

I grew in L.A., so I have been around earthquakes my whole life.  Most of them are forgettable except for three:

1. The San Fernando Quake of 1971. A 6.6 . I was 7 and lived 2 miles from the epicenter. I had a nightmare that night and went to sleep in my parents' bed.  Good thing too as a shelf over my bed collapsed. That could have been the end of me.  That bastard cracked our swimming pool and flattened the hospital I was born in.  How very Californian. We got out of school that day.

2. The Whittier Narrows Quake of 1987. A 5.9. Only memorable because I was having sex at the time.  Damn. I am that good.

3. The Northridge Quake of 1994. A 6.4. I was fast asleep in my nasty Hollywood apartment when that one hit. My cat clawed into me and the bed rolled across the room.  The ground didn't really stop moving for two days and it felt like one was trying to stand on a rocking boat.  The next day I drove down Ventura Blvd. and saw the damage.  It was intense.  I loved every minute of it.

Now today, the day after, all of the specialists are fluttering about saying things like "This is our wake up call." and "The 'big one' is a-coming."  Sure it is.  The big one is always coming and when it finally does, I'll be right there watching every minute of it -  that is if I am not floating in the sea from a cracked-in-half California.  

Starfleet

My business hero Sir Richard Branson unveiled White Knight 2 today: the first spacecraft developed for tourism that literally takes one out of this world - 62 miles up in fact. Yep. We are going to space. Pack lightly and don't expect a movie.

Virgin Galactic is a company founded by SRB  in 2004.  Its mission is to be the first private organization to bring the public to suborbital heights.  At a price of $200,000 per person, non-astronauts can catapult to space, experience weighlessness for 6 minutes, vomit, and then come screaming back into the atmosphere for landing two and a half hours later.  That's only $1,333/minute. From a base in New Mexico,  the White Knight 2 booster will take the actual passenger craft, SpaceShipTwo, about 50,000 feet up where a hybrid rocket will separate the two and launch the the craft into space.  How awesome is that!

In spite of my freakish fear of heights, my affinity for outer space saga (read: Star Trek) and my fetish for all things Virgin (huh??!) is compelling enough to put this on my list of Things I must do before I die.  I will do whatever I can to experience this.  How many Virgin America, Virgin Atlantic, Virgin Nigeria flights must I travel on to subsidize this cost with frequent flyer points?  I hear Lagos is just ducky this time of year.  Hell, I'd go back to buying CD's at the Megastore if I thought it would help.  Indeed the $200,000 price tag is steep, but the chance to go into outer space is truly once-in-a-lifetime.  

Who wants to come along?

Street people

Yesterday was the Dore Alley Street Fair. Heralded as one of San Francisco's finest Freak, Fetish n Things events, yesterday's seemed to have been mellower than in years past.  The energy was at times, somewhat apathetic and the nakedness wasn't too sexy.  The crowds thinned out earlier than normal.  The public whippings were more sparse and I caught one big bottomed lesbian being flogged yawning.  Even the notorious overly-tanned, polyester-haired  jack-off dude (and those of you who have gone know who I mean) was flaccid.  People actually queued up to piss in the plastic, porta-potties instead of using the closest fence or pissboy.  There appeared to be less vendors.  The only thing that drew a crowd was porn star Twister but last year they were naked.  This year they were clothed.  Boo!

Maybe is had something to do with the sub-zero temperatures.  San Francisco has notoriously cold summers but yesterday was cold even by SF-summer standards: chilly, windy and at one point, misty.  Great for hard nipples. Bad for shrinkage.  It's hard to take your freaky self out of it's shell when the shell is much warmer. 

With all of this being said, I did have fun because I was able to mingle with friends who always make the times more festive.  Sam was working so I was solo hopping from friend-cluster to friend-cluster: David and Tank, Dave and Big Tony, Damon (pictured above with me) and Mike, Charlie and Jason.  Then around 4:30PM I threw a shirt on and headed home, satisfied, hungry and damn cold.

My friend Lisa

This morning before I suited up for the Dore Alley Street Fair in San Francisco, I met one of my closest friends Lisa for breakfast.  I adore Lisa.  She is my fruit fly.

Lisa and I used to work for the same company in sales.  And we kicked ass.  We were a dynamic duo that pushed sales sky high and would often call on customers together.  At the time Lisa lived in California.  We were kind of inseparable - sort of like Will & Grace if Will was beefier and Grace was Korean.

But times change.

Lisa has a charming husband and two absolutely adorable little boys and they no longer live in California.  So it has been awhile since I had seen her last.  But this morning it was like we picked up where we left off.  In attendance was Lisa's youngest boy - a positively charming one year old with a single tooth and the hair of Maddox.  And Lisa and I chatted and giggled the way old, seasoned friends do.  She knows me too well and is often my voice of reason.  We all need friends like Lisa.  I am lucky.  I have one.

Doin' a 180

180 days.  Today Sam and I mark our 6th month anniversary.  Damn, what a great ride.

We met as most boy-boys do these days - via the interweb machine.  Using it's mystical, magickal ways of connecting people, we started chatting on-line and decided to meet in person at gentleman's establishment of socializing and spirits.  We've been virtually inseparable ever since. And I must say, it's a blast.

In the past six months we have done a crazy amount of stuff together - day trips to Marin, Santa Cruz, Fairfield; weekend trips to Gureneville, Boonville, Monterey; concerts of Limbeck and Jimmy Eat World (twice!); the comedic acts of Chelsea Handler, Nick Swardson (complete with an encounter with Kato Kaelin, which is a whole other story in of itself); in addition to dinners with friends, a wedding, movies, and plenty of trips to McDonald's and Wendy's.   We ain't slowing down either with more concerts, performances and trips in the next few months.  Life is good.

Six months isn't a long time, but the personal growth I have experienced from meeting Sam has been intense. I have found myself to be a more trusting, better man through this and look forward to my personal evolution in the times ahead.  Isn't that the best thing about finding someone?  How they make you feel and grow about yourself?  In the end, the best way relationships flourish is when each member of the unit finds personal growth within themselves and can do this with their chosen hand-in-hand along the rocky road of life.  

My hand is in Sam's.

Happy anniversary Scampers. I love you.

Hole in the sky

A QANTAS 747-400 enroute to Melbourne from Hong Kong popped a hole at 29,000 feet, decompressing a cargo bay sending suitcases and contraband hurling toward the South China Sea.  The little yellow masks deployed and the pilots immediately executed emergency landing procedures which include pushing the plane into an unsettling but safe dive to get below 10,000 feet where the oxygen level is acceptable to breathe without the use of masks.  No passengers were injured but I am sure there were a lot of soiled seats when the plane touched down in Manila, as if the thought of landing in the Philippines itself wasn't enough to wet oneself out of horror.

Now my twisted ass ' favorite part of this story isn't the dramatic efforts of the pilots to save the jet from catastrophe, rather I'd like to have been present to watch the stupid items people pack  - from the cheap, knock off  Gucci bags, to Aussiebum underwear, to shoddy Chinese electronics bought in a HK market, and to possibly more Mr. Potato Heads filled with esctasy  rain from the sky.  All that secret stuff we don't want our friends and family knowing about all of a sudden being exposed and dropped into the sea - where pirates and other ambitious scavengers can collect.  I'd like to get some of that shit and sell it on eBay - "Dildo recovered from the China Sea from the QANTAS jet incident. Bids start at $200. Paypal accepted."

Most certainly this incident was traumatic for the passengers and crew.  I am not insensitive to that.  I grew up in an airline household and my partner is a flight attendant.  I myself  travel frequently and if this were to happen to me, well, it wouldn't be pretty.  Just my luck some other like-minded blogger would have a field day with what falls out of my suitcase, let alone my shrieking and overly-dramatic "goodbyes" would somehow make it's way onto You Tube.

In all seriousness, I wish the passengers the best and am thankful they arrived safely.  To the crew, damn, you are the heroes and I applaude you.

And to the pirates, what's the opening bid for Mr. Potato Head?

End of days

Richard Simmons is considering running for congress.  The end is here.  Western civilization will collapse and by the time the next Olympiad limps into London we will be throwing rocks at the moon contemplating a return to the sludge from whence we came.

Richard Simmons for congress.  Clearly the Apostle John tripping the light fantastic saw this coming and while composing the book of Revelation most surely said to himself "holy Christ I can't write about this. This is too weird even for me." 

This is America.  The days of brave politicians making a difference for the average man seem to be over.  We now have executives of energy companies dictating environmental policies, law being driven by lobbyists, monkies being elected for president and entirely too much Jesus in the Supreme Court. And now, performers heading to Washington.  Now don't get me wrong - I am not entirely critical of the entertainer-cum-politician move.  I am not disappointed in Gov. Schwarzeneggar's regime.   But what resume building experience do some actors and performers have that qualifies them to be an elected official?  President of the actor's union? Check. A master's degree? Check.  Actor-turned businessman? Uh, check.  Political pundit? Half a check. Guest spot on Will & Grace? Blank.  An Herbal Essence commercial? Next.  

Jesse Ventura did it then bailed after his first term.  Ronald Regan did it but came down with Alzheimer's by his third day in office and the rest of his term is a little fuzzy.   Al Franken wants to it, and he'll wear long pants. Clint was mayor of a very white, very rich coastal town - not much effort there I assume. Even porn star-turned-Celebrity Rehab princess Mary Carey threw her bra into the ring; but she wasn't really that serious.  Maybe she was high at the time.  But then maybe so was George when threw his bra into the ring. Back on topic.

But still - Richard Simmons?  What's even crazier is that we as a nation are so star struck that he might actually win.  After that, it's just a slippery slope to the apocalypse.

Fire in the Dark

Tonight Sam and I went to see The Dark Knight; in IMAX no less.  Holy shit what an amazing movie.  From start to finish it hooks you in.  In fact,they don't even bother with opening credits.  All the elements come together from the plot to the cinematography to the music to the script to the acting.  

As we all know, this is Heath Ledger's last role and he is fucking brilliant.  His rendition of the Joker scares the hell out of you because it's that "I -have-nothing-to-lose-I'm-in-this-to-just-wreck-havoc" type of insanity.  His crazy is balanced with evil and a wry humor.  The late actor's performance is balanced by his talented co-stars:  Christian Bale (is the a role he cannot do? I even loved him in Reign of Fire);  Aaron Eckhart (hot!); Morgan Freeman (the most prolific actor in Hollywood); Gary Oldman (my favorite - the Fifth Element)  and Michael Caine (I loved him as that crazy, pot smoking, farting dude in Children of Men).  Oh yeah, Jake's sister Maggie  (the other Gyllenhal - so Heath screwed Jake in Brokeback and screwed-over Maggie in Dark Knight) reprised the role of Rachel.  I wonder why Katie Holmes didn't do the sequel?  Why don't you ask this whack-job. He is just as insane as Ledger's Joker.

I won't repeat what every other geek blog and reviewer has said.  The film delivers.  Go see it.  

Hello Dolly?

Tropical Storm Dolly mustered up enough strength to become Hurricane Dolly this afternoon.  Hurricane warnings were posted all along the southern Texas coastline up toward Houston.   Here we go, brace for impact.

I always find myself getting caught up in the theater of weather.  As destructive as these storms are and the human and property tolls left in their wake is clearly serious, I can't help but be fascinated by hurricane season.

I think I know why: we as "civilized" Americans like to give cutesy names to things in nature.  We have pets we name Arthur  and Sammy.  We have wild animals in captivity we name Montecore, Shamu and Tyk.  And big storms that flatten cities, we name Dolly and Katrina.  As a product of doing this, we form human-ish connections to the very thing that can reasonably destroy us.  So when the news stories break with an associated "girl/boy-next-door" or clever name, right away we are drawn in.  And since we now have an emotional link to the storm (or rampaging elephant), we can't help but feel something - whether it's anger toward the wind and rain or a sympathy toward the poor beast who gets shot for being themselves.   It's very sad when people's lives are unavoidably ruined when they  intersect with Mother Nature at her worst.  But when it can be avoided, such by not putting your head in that tiger's mouth, then let's take the safe approach and let the tiger be a tiger and do something else.

And why is just hurricanes?  We don't assign cute human names to earthquakes, firestorms or tornados...although earthquake Suri has a nice ring to it.

Personally, I think we should stop naming our storms and wild animals.  They aren't elements of humanity and should be kept in their proper, respected place in nature.  Something that can level a city in a matter of hours should not be trivialized with the same name as a plasticized Country singer or a one-hit-wonder crooning "Walking on Sunshine."  

Anyway to those in the path of the hurricane, I wish you luck.

McCain. McCan't.

I was attacked in my backyard today

A gang of thugs assaulted me in my backyard today.  It was relentless. It was quick.  It was adorable.

I was brought down by puppies.

When I was 4, I prayed to the baby Jesus for a puppy.  It seems 40 years later he is finally filling my order and paying me with interest.  In fact, there were three puppies in varying shades of brown and fluffiness who attacked me with yelps and nibbles.  I was helpless.  They won.

Now that the "awwwwww-ing" is over, the truth is, these aren't my puppies.  They are my neighbor's.  She has a whole fleet of pups and somehow, these lawless three, burrowed escape tunnels from their yard into mine.  For as quickly as they appeared, they vanished yapping all the way.

So as tempted as I was to keep the cutest one, I didn't  In fact I plugged the holes with rocks to keep the marauders at bay.  Clearly my neighborhood isn't safe.  My backyard is accessible to trespassers.  Maybe I need a dog.

Rock steady

Last night Sam and I saw Jimmy Eat World at the Fillmore in San Francisco.  Needless to say they ROCKED the house.  This is Sam's favorite band and his 14th time seeing them live.  In the almost 6 months of being with him, this is my second live Jimmy show and I must say their performance last night topped their gig in San Jose.  The Fillmore is, well, the Fillmore where all the rock greats have performed and sent their fans into music nirvana.  Jimmy did just that to us and the rest of the fans who were, at various times: screaming, taking pics with their iPhones, taking pics with their non-iPhones, drinking, texting, singing along, dancing, smooching and occasionally, toking.  It was packed house and aside from the messy drunk kids invading our personal space, a perfect night.

Hearing them on the radio is one thing, seeing them live is another.  Check them out and go see them. I said "now!"

Daily fix 2

So I want to come clean about about my earlier discussion about Starbucks.  Indeed the green siren has replaced the golden arches as the indelible American thumbprint across the world, and pending the ice analysis from Mars, the Milky Way.  Most likely that title will remain even after they shutter 616 stores.  But their mass is what appeals to me - the fact they are everywhere and you know exactly what your order will taste like - whether it's from store #0000001 at Pike's Market in Seattle, or from the store recently opened in the ninth circle of hell.  So no matter where I order my venti-skinny-vanilla-latte, it will taste just like the last.

With that said, my true coffee loyalties lay with Peet's.  The Berkeley based chain has forged an image of being the holistic, organic and more "granola" alternative to the big bad corporate Starbucks.  Don't let the Berkeley address fool you - they are run by suits just like SBUX.   Even so, I prefer their products.  I like the taste of their coffee, the mood of their stores, and out of some sort of loyalty to a Bay Area business, want to support the local enterprise.  One thing to know about me - I am a sucker for good branding and marketing.  I am the perfect consumer.

Daily fix

Well Starbucks has released the list of stores closing.  For coffee junkies everywhere, it seems they might have to walk an extra 10 feet to get their venti-soy-no foam-extra shot-latte.  A dark day in America?  For some, yes. As today some might find themselves shivering in a dark corner at the thought of their favorite store closing, staring at a drawer full of Starbucks gift cards each with less than a dollar of value left.

I for one am happy they aren't closing my local Pacifica outlet or the infamous Starbears in the Castro.  If the latter was slated for closure, there would be no less than 300 300-pound hairy men in upheaval at the thought of their hangout being converted into yet another porn store or pizza place.  

But why is this newsworthy?  Indeed I am devoting an entry in my blog about the closure of 616 caffeinated drug dens, so surely I am finding some relevance with the topic today.   I think it's because we love to see those on top fall. Take Britney slurping her Starbucks above.  We've all loved watching her plummet to earth.  In fact sometimes we got so wrapped up in the theater of her demise that we needed that extra espresso shot in our Frappucino.  Even today, she decided to give up sole custody of her kids to K-Fed.  Goodness. What does it say about our culture when K-Fed makes the better parent and more importantly, why should we care?

And what does it say about our culture that the Starbucks empire had such an enormous reach to the masses that a closure of 616 stores will barely leave a dent?  Indeed people will still queue up to pay $5 for their fix.   I know I will. I like my vanilla lattes and the boyfriend likes his pink Fraps with whipped cream. 

Where the hell is Pacifica?

I live in Pacifica but I might as well say Timbuktu.

When I am asked where I live and I respond with "Pacifica," the response from the inquisitor results in a raised eyebrow and a cartoon question mark of their head.

"Where...?"

Pacifica, as I describe it, is a "stoner-surfer-blue collar city 15 miles south of San Francisco along the coast."   I guess I feel it needs that string of adjectives to give it a character to justify me living here.  Clearly so close to San Francisco it would be easier for to simply say "San Francisco" and right away people understand.   But this explanation of the 94044 is not only intended for residents outside the area.  Citizens of San Francisco might know where Pacifica is but almost always respond with a "way out there?' as if those 15 miles were taking them to Tucson.

Take a look at the picture above.  I took this on a Virgin America flight.  The little cove you see (by the nacelle) is Pacifica.  The metro area immediately above it is San Francisco.  See?! Not that far.

So now you know where the hell it is.

Jailhouse Dick

Andy Dick was arrested and jailed this morning  for drugs and sexual battery of, uhhh, a young girl.  Apparently he pulled her top down exposing her boobies.  I guess he finally wanted to see what they look like.  The cops were called when someone complained of a drunk pissing outside a bar in the Inland Empire of Socal. What he was doing in the 909 is anyones guess.  Not so A-list anymore, eh Andy? I guess the "Newsradio" checks stopped coming.

This isn't Dick's first time in trouble.  Last year in Columbus, OH Dick pissed in public and was cited for it.  Clearly Dick likes to piss outside. I guess when you are wasted it's easier not to aim at a drain.  He was  also removed from "Jimmy Kimmel Live" after grabbing Ivanka Trump. Trying to overcompensate, Andy?   In 1999 he was arrested for drug possession after driving into a telephone pole.  He probably pissed outside there too.

I wonder if Promises has any vacancies.  Thanks for the mug shot Andy.

Can someone explain this to me?

Republican senator Elizabeth Dole has just submitted legislation to name an AIDS bill after Jesse Helms.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Just as a refresher, Jesse Helms thought gays and lesbians were the scorage of the earth and that "the government should spend less on people with AIDS because they got sick due to their deliberate, disgusting, revolting conduct."  

This makes no sense to me.  

What a slap in the face to the millions worldwide who suffer from AIDS.  What a slap in the face to everyone period.  To name any bill in the honor of this evil asshole is insulting.    Fortunately he is not alive anymore to foster his hatespeak, but Ms. Dole feels it necessary to attach this piece of shit's name to a bill to, for some reason, continue the rotting senator's legacy.

Now this is the same Senator Dole who is married to Bob. Maybe we should attach her name to the "The Impotent Husband" bill.  Perhaps he doesn't need Viagra.  Maybe he is turned on by intelligence.

Golden State?

I read this today and what we have all speculated is here: $5/gal. for gas.  We Californians are always blazing new trails - from Silicon Valley to Hollywood.  But this is one trail I wish we would have avoided. Why can't Indiana have taken the lead on this one?

Now mind you I drive a hybrid.  Actually, a hybrid-lite - Camry Hybrid.  So even with an average of 35 MPG I'm still forking over $55-$60 every time to fill it's tanks.  That adds up. That's dipping into my essential disposable income budget.  

We have all been lamenting the cost of fuel lately.  Indeed it is impacting everything we do,  even if you don't drive.  Check the cost of flying or milk these days?   Way more than last year.  So hybrid or not, the cost of transporting goods (including myself and the passengers in my car) has skyrocketed.  How are people making ends meet?  This economy scares me.

And being a resident of Ahnold's Kingdom just adds to it.  It's expensive here especially in the Bay Area where our faux elite lifestyle and over inflated cost of living has pushed the middle class even lower than everywhere else.  Ironically, we have an oil refinery within sight of the Golden Gate Bridge, yet we clamored to be first with $5/gal. gas well on our way to $6/gal. We (rather, the oil dudes) would hate for whomever is in second place to catch up.  Gouging much?

Not so golden.

Ground zero

My name is Greg and this is my blog.   Not exactly the most clever way to enter into the world of online journaling, but I felt it was efficient and to the point.

For those of you have been following my livejournal since it's inception 5 days ago, you already know of my lack of fortitude when it comes to hobbies.  Things always sound so much better when everyone else is doing it, or when you read about it, than the activity itself.  It's this impulse, for example,  that prompts us to buy fitness magazines and fat burners because clearly we can achieve the physique we want by investing only the initial energy.  As with everything else in motion, gravity and drag (read: laziness and frustration) slow our activity to a halt.  And before you know it, those elusive 10 pounds have grown into 15. 

But I'll have some faith in myself given I always have something to say to pursue this blog.  

So this is where I start. My ground zero, rather post-zero.