Sunday, December 28, 2008

Forkboy (Lard) - Black Light Burns


Yeah, so I stole this from another blog, picklesandmilk.blogspot.com, but I liked it. And that's all you really need to steal something, right? Here goes. (Personal Interpretations after the =>.)

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Out On The Tiles - Led Zeppelin => Let's fight.

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITy?
Sing - The Dresden Dolls => I love to sing...in private; or when drunk.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Army of Bono - Clutch => Ladies who love U2???? This one went awry.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Pearl - Bjork => Dull and round.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Dirty Mef (Feat. O.D.B.) - Method Man => Living in a trailer, mixing chemicals.

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
North American Scum - LCD Soundsystem => Proud to be NA scum, travelling the globe.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Run (Feat. Jadakiss) - Ghostface Killa => Run away, trouble awaits-friend's voice.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Pretend The World - She Wants Revenge => Fakeness, wasting time.

WHAT IS 2+2?
21st Century - Red Hot Chili Peppers => 21st century kids may not know the answer.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Double Trouble (Feat. The Roots) - Mos Def => Double shots are always trouble.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Dialogue 3: Going Shopping - Global Access, Spanish 09 => Who is that? Foreign?
Song Wise= Soul Power-Black Jungle (Feat. Flavor Flav) - Wu Tang Clan=> Yep, foreign.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Travelin Man (DJ Honda Remix) - Mos Def => Now, this song is appropriate.

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Trailer Trash - Modest Mouse => Trailer Trash living in a downtown loft.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Half A World Away - Esthero => Unfortunately, this song is appropriate as well.

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Heaven - UGK => I wish I knew what they thought. Mums the word, though.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Satisfy - Jerry Cantrell => Can't remember what it was the first time...this works.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Incubation - Joy Division => I have another one picked out, but the polls don't lie

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
93 Million Miles - 30 Seconds To Mars => Or at least 9.3 million in travel.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Vices And Virtues - Dropkick Murphys => Wow...this is CRAZY correct.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
I'm Sorry - Flyleaf (I know, forgive me) => Funny but flakey.

WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Since I've Been Loving You - Led Zeppelin => Hmmm, you could turn to the Dark Side?

HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Zeros And Ones (Aphex Twin Reconstruction) - Jesus Jones => Computer kills me.

WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Come To Me - Bjork => Acting at a time where I did not have enough time.

WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
This Ain't A Surfin' Movie - Minus The Bear => My sense of humor...clinical answer.

WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Stay True - Ghostface Killa => My mom....but not for a long time.

WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Bad Dream - Tricky => Continuous solitude.

DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Chi Kung - RZA => Probably not, romantically. But the other bases are covered.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Pendulous Threads - Incubus => I would have knocked my dad out, no concern.

WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Naughty Girls (Need Love Too) - Samantha Fox (It's from Clerks 2, okay?)=>Oh yeah!!!!

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Forkboy (Lard) - Black Light Burns => Wu Symphony was a close second.



Now, do the same for your life. I used my 80GB IPod w/ 8,628 songs...which made for a very eclectic mix of answers. Stay true. Write down what comes out, regardless of what it is. I added my take to my answers, but you can leave that out...if you are SCARED!

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Helpin' a brotha out....


The following is a joke, told to me in English, from a drunk Norwegian.

Enjoy.

A man and his wife are having a baby. When the husband is told that his wife has gone into labor, he rushes to the hospital and is greeted by the doctor in the waiting room.

"Where is my baby? Where is my baby?", asked the husband.

"I will take you to your baby, but first I must warn you. There is a problem with your baby.", said the doctor.

"What is wrong with my baby?"

"Yes, I will show you your baby."

The two men walk to the nursery, and there they see a line of bassinets.

The first baby they see, is missing an arm.

"Oh no! Oh my God, my baby! My baby!", screamed the new father.

"No no, I am afraid this is not your baby. Your baby is much worse."

The second baby is missing both arms.

"Oh my God! My baby!"

"No no, I am afraid your baby is much worse."

The third baby is missing both arms, and both legs.

"Oh my God, what is wrong with me?! My poor baby!"

No no, I am afraid your baby is much worse.

The last baby, is just a shiny eyeball, looking straight up from the blanket that is swaddled around it.

"Oh my God! My poor, poor baby!", the father wailed. But then, he begins to feel the natural, fatherly instinct that all fathers feel, the feeling of fatherly pride. He looks on the bright side. "Well, at least my baby can see me, and know that I am it's father."

The doctor looks at the man and replies, "No no, that is the problem. Your baby is blind."

At the time that this joke was told to me, it was after midnight in a country that I had never been to, and I could not speak it's native language. Sitting at the party, outside on the deck, I was pretty much on my own, as everyone else was Norwegian, and therefore speaking Norwegian. So, as the title of the blog suggests, one of the party's guests helped a brotha out, by speaking in English. And I laughed hysterically.

Cheers for that.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

New job, new future, new parting gifts.


So, I am starting a new job soon. To be fair, I am attempting to start a new job soon. The process involves 12 to 16 months of classroom and on-the-job training, just to be qualified to perform a new job for the same company, in the same place. Confused? Yeah, me too, a little bit.

I am only the second employee of this large, global company that I work for, to go through this warp speed program. Kind of gives me goose bumps, but also makes me fearful. I don't think that I will have any major problems, as far as learning the material and skills required. Just a little nervous about the process. I will be living out of a suitcase for at least the next year. I am already accustomed to this, as a rotating ex-pat must be. However, unlike my current job, where I know when I get to go home, and what I have to do while working in the land of sand, I now do not know precisely what I have to do and when it will take place.

The up-swing to my new job duties, at least when I am finished with the training, is that I will gain a rather substantial pay increase. The downside, is that all of the training that I have been doing recently, not to mention the glorious month on/month off work schedule, will be put on hiatus until I finish my "schoolin'". But, that's okay. I plan to make up for it with a summer in Europe when I am finished. If, I can learn the language.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy!!!!


My friend started up an online literary magazine. The site is www.assimilatemagazine.com. You can go there and check out the rules for submitting your, probably terrible, writing. If you think you are good enough, and smart enough, and if gosh-darned people like you enough, you should submit. Submit to the almighty power that is Assimilate Magazine!!!!!!!!!!

And tell them that Mike sent you, from www.ithinkisteppedinsomething.blogspot.com, and win a free sticker, while supplies last. Quantities are limited to zero.

Just another part to that thing I am writing...


Here is another part of the project that I have been struggling to work on, as of late. The character Mike is not based on me, just happens to share the same name.

Mike sat at the end of the bar, nearest the station for waitresses to put in and pick up drink orders. This usually gave him the opportunity to flirt with several ladies as they made there way past him. This type of strategic placement had won him an enviable record of success in obtaining phone numbers and on good nights, one night stands. This was, of course, if he was in a good mood. He could be a vindictive and manipulative bastard at times, and on those none too rare occasions, his entertainment came from turning the women against each other. He would often times laugh himself off of the barstool when he could cause some type of confrontation.

Ben had been with Mike on several of those occasions, often acting as a peacemaker and keeping Mike from getting his ass beaten. The role was not one that he cherished but he had come to consider it par for the course. Often times, Ben had acted as a wing man for Mike and he had gone home with the fat friend, or ugly friend, too many times to recall. Some guys would have a problem with always getting the less desirable of the two women. Ben just did not see it as a bad thing. As far as he was concerned, they were the ones who were more eager to please, and rarely bothered you after the night was over. The pretty ones always seemed to be a problem in the end, latching on and wanting to talk about a relationship. Ben had better things to do, and definitely better priorities. He had been with his fair share of pretty women, for he was a handsome young guy. Unfortunately, he came off as cold towards women a lot of the time due to his shy personality and the “relationship” would more than likely end up with a restraining order against the most current disappointed beauty queen. No, he preferred fucking the fat chick and going to sleep.

Mike leaned back on his stool, holding on to the bar top with his hands. He stared at the blonde college girl who was carrying a stack of empty beer glasses, watching her as she came towards him. He gave her a smile and asked her how she was doing, really playing up his Boston accent. This was usually a hit with the ladies, causing the girls to fawn all over him, asking him to say the most random things so that they could melt from his Boston drawl and New England charm. This girl returned his smile and replied in an accent of her own,”I’m from South Boston sweetie. Use your accent on someone else.” She slapped his ass after saying this and flashed another smile as she saw the guilty look on his face. His game had been identified and with one quick retort, the girl from Boston had rendered his offense useless.

Mike raised his glass to the young lady, tipping it towards her in a type of salute, and looked to his friend as she passed out of sight. “That bitch from Southy is going down tonight my friend.”, he said as Ben gave him an awestruck look and replied, “Dude, there is no way. She saw right through the best thing you had going for you.”

Mike took a drag off of his cigarette that had been smoldering down to the filter since he had lit it. He crushed it into a little wad of a cigarette corpse, and smiled at his friend. “And what exactly is my best thing?,” he asked.. The fact that you are something strange to the local girls around here. You are an anomaly to them, but she has known thousand of guys like you because she is from Boston. You stand no chance.”

“Let me tell you something.”, Mike said, ripping the label from his empty Sam Adams beer bottle. “I went out with this girl last night, real fucking bitch.”

“So you struck out with her then?” Ben asked.

“Nah. I nailed her. It was a total grudge fuck though. One for the ages.” Mike responded..

Ben had a confused look on his face. He looked around the bar, just in case someone might have heard what Mike had said. “Alright. I will bite. What exactly is a grudge fuck?”

“Well, it is when two people get together and fuck, no matter how much they hate each other. I hated her because she was a cold hearted bitch that shot down any guy that approached her. I mean, she came across as this total ice queen, and I have dealt with too many of those in my life to not despise them.”, Mike explained as he signaled the bartender for another beer.”Now, she hated me because I was a dude. Evidently she had been screwed over by several guys from her past. None of them took care of her, or listened to her, you know. Same old bullshit story, just another day. So, end of the story, we got together and worked out some of our own personal issues. It was kind of like therapy, only with fucking involved.”

Mike leaned into the bar upon completion of his explanation, acting as if he had just explained the simplest occurrence ever. Ben could not believe how calm his friend appeared to be. This was the craziest idea that he had ever heard of and yet, Mike acted as if he had just been told that the sky was blue. “SO wait a second....I mean, how does that even work? How do you get a woman who hates you, because you are you, to give in and have sex?”

Mike flashed a smirk and said, “It’s the Corvette man. It’s a panty dropper.”

Ben looked at the guy sitting next to him, this friend of his for several years. “Okay, let me get this straight. She hated you, but then she saw your Corvette. After that, she just fucked you. And that was it.”

“Nah”, Mike replied. “ She is coming by tomorrow, too. Seems she has some more issues to work out or something. I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.”

As Ben began to laugh at his friends anecdote, a girl that had been celebrating her birthday that night stumbled up to the bar. She smiled at Ben and then turned to face Mike, who had bought her a few birthday shots over the course of the night. Mike nodded at the bartender as his fresh beer arrived, and gave the universal sign for two more shots. This looked like a guy with only two fingers on one hand, having a seizure and causing his hand to move back and forth at a meth users pace between the two receivers of said shots.

“I love you!”, the girl slurred. “You are so sweet for sending me those free shots. I just wanted to come over here and tell you that you are so cooooool!” Her birthday tiara sat half tangled in the birdnest of her hair, a mess that could only be caused by drunken fidgeting. Mike looked from the girls hair down to her feet, making it obvious that he was giving her a good looking over. He looked back to her face, and then turned to face the television behind the bar.

“Really? Cause I was just thinking how annoying you and your friends were earlier, belting out show tunes like we were at the god damn ice capades.”, Mike replied with a thick Boston accent, obviously re-trying his luck. The girl took a minute to register the fact that she and her friends had just been insulted. “What?!? You are in a bar motherfucker, and it is my birthday, and you are a jackass!”

“I’m a jackass? You’re the one doing your Liza Manelli impersonation in a sports bar. If I wanted to hear a sound as bad as your singing, I could have stayed at home and murdered a cat with a blender. How drunk are you, by the way?”, Mike asked.

“Fuck you!”, the girl screamed, starting to cause a commotion. “I am not drunk. You are just an asshole. You know what else you are? You’re .....”. The girl’s ranting trailed off as she stared at the shots being set on the bar in front of Mike. He looked at her and spoke up. “You’re right, I am sorry. Here have a drink.”. He slid one of the tall glasses towards her along the bar top.

“OOH, Jager Bombs!” she exclaimed, hastily grabbing the drink and downing it in one swallow. “You’re voice sounds funny. Where are you from?” Mike flashed a quick look at Ben before going in for the kill with this soon to be conquest. Ben turned on his bar stool, looking towards the table of her friends. He downed the last of his beer and went off to select the weakest of the herd as he heard them singing a new song.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Can I Buy You A Drink?

The adoration of Americans has begun! Perhaps an overstatement, but the idea seems to be making the rounds of a lot of American news outlets. Which I think is a little presumptious of them.

However, as a world traveler, and I use that term in the most romantic, if not the truest, sense of the word, I did have a drunk Irishman on his way to Libya, buy me a drink in an Irish pub in the Amsterdam airport. How's that for authentic? I have been asked many times, by people of many different nationalities, about my view of having Obama as a president. Most of the questions mainly referred to the fact that Obama is African-American. And, quite frankly, several of those people had a negative view of Obama's ethnicity. I could care less about that, I just hope he does a good job.

Personally, I was pulling for the other guy. However, since the election, I find myself hopeful about Obama. I actually kind of feel good about him winning. Time will tell, I guess, if these feelings are well deserved. The Irish gent, in Amsterdam, definitely seemed happy about the outcome of the election. He seemed proud of America, and Americans, for what had happened. For a second, I thought he was going to tear up. Of course, that could have been the Jameson that he was drinking.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Where Have You Gone, Magoo?






This is my friend, Richard White. Well, this is an example of Richard’s humor. The last time that I worked with him, he had found a large pair of clear safety glasses. Quickly after donning the ill-fashioned glasses, he turned around and exclaimed, "Look at my new Magoo glasses. I think I will keep them.". All of this was said with a Scottish accent, in the style of the old, poor-sighted cartoon character named Mr. Magoo, who is famous for the hi-jinks that he got into. He took a photo of himself with his camera phone, causing a slight distortion that made the glasses he wore look even bigger. I convinced him to beam the picture to my laptop, with an offer to do a little creative editing of the picture, making him appear older and adding the caption of "Mr. Magoo Goes To The Oil Field". I procrastinated until it was time to go home, keeping the photo on my work laptop, planning on getting around to it next time.


I just found out today that he has passed away at the untimely age of 30. As I sit here, writing this post, I am in Costa Rica... San Jose, Costa Rica to be exact. I came here for the fun to be had for young, single men who can afford it. Also, for the memories to be shared and swapped with Richard and other friends in our predicament Guys with too much time on our hands, and a zest for making and experiencing new memories.


I must confess that I have always been a little envious of Richard, or Junior as we referred to him at times. He has traveled to more countries than I have states. He has seen Flavor Flav steal the audience of a following band at a festival, inviting them to come watch him jump off of a platform for a bungee experience. And, he was Scottish. Which I have to admit, is kind of cool.


Richard and I were able to hang out a bit, back in September. We were both offshore in Saudi, he was performing one job that went pretty much hand in hand with my job. I was able to get some great music from his hard drive and have a whole lot of laughs. Laughs I well needed while my family went through a hospitalization and a mysterious illness back home. Home that definitely felt like a million miles away. The songs, albums, and artists that I got from Richard, ran the gauntlet of music that I had thought I would never hear again. Mostly gangsta rap, a little bit of techno, and some good ol’ fashioned American rock that has filled my laptop to it’s capacity, as far as gigabytes go.


Whitey was the guy who was definitely living out his own agenda, quick to call b.s. when he saw it, and just as quick to see the humor in almost any situation. With a musical wit, he was quick to snag a line or too from some song, popular or forgotten. My favorite was a line from the Kaiser Chiefs song, "Oh My God". It refers to a comment about a guy that works with us. A great guy, who is at times a little naive perhaps. I think this quote could go perfect for the passing of Richard....

It don’t matter to me
Cause all I want to be
Is a million miles from here
Somewhere more familiar.

Oh my God,
I can’t believe it.
I’ve never been this far away from home.

So, cheers to you Richard. And thanks for the memories.

Friday, October 24, 2008

For my homeboy, the wook...may your Mac rest in peace.


Actually, I think that might even be his leg....

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Just something I have been writing...

This is extremely first draft, don't know if it will turn into anything. Just a section that I think has promise for a laugh...



Bob was the kind of guy that really made people feel weird. I mean weird like a Catholic priest in a Chucky Cheese’s ball pit, grinning and wringing his hands. The Church is under a microscope enough without those guys hanging around little kid smorgasbords. As long as Tom could remember, his younger cousin had always been a strange guy. Unfortunately Bob had grown up into an equally strange adult, often being openly stared at wherever he ventured into public. Most of his time was spent in the secrecy of his basement room, typing away under the blue glow of his computer monitor.

Tom had tried to show some interest in the guy, trying to be a good cousin and give the oddball a little bit of advice. However, when Bob just stared blankly into Tom’s eyes, slowly scratching the back of his head creating a mini-blizzard of flaky dandruff, it made Tom a little nervous.


One time, when the whole family had went on vacation together, they went to the beach. Bob came out of the cabin wearing his white Captain Caveman tank top with little green floaties around his arm. His brown corduroy shorts with little Izod lizards sewn all over them, made quite the spectacle. The pair of goggles that he wore were covered with scratches, almost as if he had worn them while attempting to rape a large house cat. Bob had also managed to find a snorkel that was painted like a candy cane, giving his entire ensemble a kind of festive cheer, kind of a Christmas comes to Miami in July type vibe.


Incredibly, all of this completely failed to take attention away from the stringers of meet attached to all of his limbs. Pieces of chicken, ham, and beef kicked up clouds of sand as he stoically marched to the edge of the water. The spectacle looked like the storming of Normandy beaches, only in reverse, and definitely in an alternate reality. People in the water, unaware of the approaching disaster known as Bob, splashed each others sinewy lean and South Beach sculpted bodies, frolicking about in the surf. As Bob got into knee-deep water, just enough to drown himself, he threw his body onto the surface of the water. This resulted in a dead man’s float thanks to his floaties and pale skin tone. The lines of meat were suspended in the saltwater around him, attracting small fish and an occasional sea gull. Tom stared at Bob’s floating chum line bonanza of fine meats, and could only stare in shocked silence. The car wreck syndrome that he was under, causing him to stare on in horror and peeked interest, kept him from being able to yell out to the unsuspecting victims.

The headlines of the local papers were pretty lame and hokey, but managed to get the readers attention. "Local Swimmers Almost Meat There End" is just one example. The few larger circulation papers that picked the story up off the Associated Press news wire had a little more class. Bob was released by the local PD to his parents custody amid a small media frenzy, flash bulbs flashing, camera men pushing each other for position, and a couple of the would-be shark attack victims threatening to feed the kid to the sharks one piece at a time. There was even one Haitian immigrant who had a little home-made likeness of Bob, some type of voodoo ritual that he was performing on the hood of his taxi.

After that, it was kind of hard for Tom to really show much interest in the poor kid. Although they were only separated by 4 years in age, and good hygiene practices, they were about as different as you could get. Tom’s family, at least on his dad’s side, had always been a little eccentric. His mother’s family lived on the west coast and there was not a whole lot of communication between them.


When he was growing up, Tom’s family had all kind of lived in the same neighborhood, sharing yards with aunts and uncles and grandparents, giving the whole block kind of a cult-like communal feel. The family was definitely strange enough to be compared to a cult. After Tom’s Uncle Marty had gotten rich off of selling correspondence classes to simple folk in the deep south, the Jamison clan had all immersed themselves into get rich quick schemes. Tom’s favorite was his Aunt Barbara’s electric fly swatter. It fared pretty well on the flea-market circuit until a kid was accidentally electrocuted trying to kill a frog. Aunt Barbara was still paying off the legal bills from that on, but had managed to do only six months in the county lock up. On the bright side, she did manage to come out of the slammer with a new outlook on Jesus. And Tom gained an Uncle Linda.

Other family members had some marginal success in there goals, no matter how deluded those goals were. There was Aunt "Stevie" who was a professional impersonator of Stevie Nix. She did not look much like Stevie, but she had the sound of a horse dying in an electric fence, the sound that Stevie was known for, down to an art. Tom like to call her sometimes, just to talk to her about the weather, so he could here her impersonation. It would send him, and occasionally some of his friends, into laughing fits that would usually end with tears and aching sides.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

So, this is the start...

I have a lot of free time on my hands, and occasionally a good thought or two. I use to have a blog on blogspot with a friend, but neither of us could keep up with it and it fell to the wayside. But, I think I am gonna give it a shot with just me. Be prepared.