My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

Merry Christmas for those of you that care. Let’s get back to innocence this new year.

Do I recognize Andre the Giant in the center of the ring?

It looks like things keep falling apart, and it didn’t matter to Glenn and I. We drove around the city yesterday with hardly a care in the world. Went to the dump and dropped a refrigerator there. Looked around at the mounds of cast off items.

“We can always come back here when things get bad,” I told Glenn. We stopped and got meatballs over rice just up the street. We drove back to my place and went up on the roof to look at the city stretched out to the ocean. We made the busses look small standing up there. It didn’t feel like someone stealing fifty billion dollars really made a difference. It was a big shakeup but we didn’t have any dust on us and we were still on our feet.

Of course accountants were already at work recouping through tax write-offs huge sums of money for the wealthy who had been taken for a ride by one of their own. The numbers represented power and didn’t need to actually exist for the wealthy to retain their power. People would be spoken to and the numbers sorted back out. Mean while Glenn and I laughed. The view is great up on my roof. The tall buildings downtown don’t matter. Glenn is a carpenter. I am a junk man. We like to work. Life is good.

photo posted from my iPhone

Dave from New Hampshire sent along a pic of his latest burger creation. What it lacks in hot dogs it makes up for in cheese and veggies.

Jesse and I went to the dump yesterday, dropped off a ten person hot tub that had been sawed into small pieces to fit through the house. Years ago it had been brought through the neighbors back yard and installed on the deck. The neighbors no longer wanted anyone in their backyard, so we took it out in handfuls. At the dump we came across an old suitcase. It had these great tags on it. Jesse made sure I saved the string. That was his favorite part.

It’s getting to be about Christmas time, and all the kids are asking for a seasonal story. I got to thinking about the Christmas tree farm off Route 33 but I never worked there. A bunch of people I know did, and I’m wondering if they could share some memories of what it was like to chop down conifers and strap them to roofs for a few weeks out of the year. Or do you have any other Christmas related work stories? Sean Macdonald and I counted bras at JC Penney’s one year for after-Christmas inventory. That doesn’t count.

I worked one Christmas day at Cumberland Farms. I don’t remember anything special about that. A day at the convenience store feels like a day at the convenience store.

Anybody out there kill geese for Christmas dinners?

photo posted from my iPhone

It’s like the 40 oz of the BBQ. Too much for one person but you’ll do it anyway. You never equated hot dogs with decadence but here it is. In American pop culture decadence isn’t about quality of materials, it’s about quantity. I stack this up against a Fabrege egg in a contest of overkill. Just let’s put some bacon between the courses, okay?

photo posted from my iPhone

These little donuts were awful good. I wish my girl would come to bed and curl up next to me and I would tell her about how they tasted, how they were so small in my mouth, and then we would start kissing and then I wouldn’t care about donuts anymore.

photo posted from my iPhone
This is twenty minutes before dusk in between showers as we create a sense of summer afternoon barbequeing. As I look back on my career in junk mail fabrication I get nostalgic for the days I was just starting out, putting staples in the bindings of higher end catalogs. And here I was on set, mopping up puddles with wads of paper towels so you won’t be able to tell it’s been raining.

I ought to talk to my therapist about the phone books that arrived on my steps last week. They are still there, swelling up with the recent rain showers. It is a protest. I refuse to touch them. I get angry every time I see them because the Yellow Pages have insulted me.

Don’t they know I own a computer? Don’t they know I’m part of the digital age and use Google to find phone numbers? It feels like I have been labeled a dunce, like somewhere an enemy is in the bushes laughing at me, me, the guy who still uses the Yellow Pages. Yeah right. Those Yellow Pages, the real Yellow Pages, are gonna sit out there on my stoop until they compost and sprout a cherry tree.

If you didn’t know already, this is a bucket loader. Drawn on awesome stationary I got at the flea market last week.

it would appear someone’s about to shoot up

Dave Luzious and I went to the dump today. We tossed his old couch onto the cement floor and in the bay next to us random photos were scattered. We crouched down and sifted through. Dave took a prize home with him – a fox in lingerie, probably one of these guys’ lady. Even wearing a teddy you could tell it was mid 80′s. We grabbed up a few photos and had to get out of the way, the bucket loader came swooping through and pushed everything into a mashed up wet pile that was going to the big hole in Altamont they call the landfill.

“It’s crazy,” Dave said. “For 30 seconds you can see into a person’s whole life and then it’s swept away.”

I had grabbed up some letters as well before the heavy equipment ripped through. The most desperate/hopeful kind of letter too – a letter from prison with requests for the one on the outside to talk to parole officers and rehab heads, trying to get shifted out of lock down to a half way house.

photo posted from my iPhone
San Francisco is not a Christmas town. Maybe it’s the high number of immigrants from non-Christian countries, maybe it’s the young single renters who don’t want to climb out the window to string lights, and maybe it’s the gay population who doesn’t want to celebrate the God who will damn them to an eternity of burning in the sulphurs of Hell. So it was startling to see Santas all around town this morning. Some conspiracy….on New Years or something.

Every night when I get ready for bed there is a zit on my nose and when I squeeze it I start to hallucinate. Tonite after the pus came out I was inside a moose. We were both alive, the moose and I, but someone was shooting at us. These things happen. The dream wears off. Them I’m standing in my underwear in front of the bathroom mirror again.

grabbed this sick shit here

Those old BMX bikes are starting to get expensive. You guys might still have one at the folks place, in a shed or something. Get that thing on eBay before your parents sell it at a yard sale for ten bucks and you lose out on a few grand. Look at that beauty up there. You remember Mushroom grips? California Lites? Bear trap pedals? If you have any old BMX Plus magazines hang on to them! You are getting old enough to want the bike your cool friend had but you couldn’t afford. And it’s gonna cost you to chase down a childhood dream.