Choose Your Own Adventure

It's your turn friends. You get to choose which story I tell next. Here's the list or choose something else.

a. The Red Radio Flyer And an Almost Certain Death
b. Shave Ice And The UPS Man
c. The Dream About Ponies That Came True
d. That One Time I Fell in The Mud
e. Yeah, I Had Ukus
d. The Dream About Ponies That Never Came True

Vote Now on the comments page

March: A Month in Review

I sure do like to blog, but I like to blog even more after I've just blogged. Right after I post something I have this urge to post three more posts on that day. I usually end up telling myself save that story for tomorrow, but it seems tomorrow turns into two weeks later. Then the cycle starts again.

March has a mere five blog entries. Not nearly enough on birthday month! So I am starting a cram session. And now some random photographs of march.


Allen x 4


girl realizes fork was a good invention after all


The adcenter's got a hott ass


men reacquainting themselves with nature

not pictured: the Bath & Idea Center

My Thoughts Circa July 18, 2003

"Active loading only please do not leave your vehicle unattended. Non-compliants will result in a parking citation."
~the message that used to play twice every two minutes at the airport

7.18.03 (at OGG waiting for my fight to take off)

I’m sitting on a ledge overlooking a luggage carrier, a few small aircrafts, and every now and then a worker walking beneath me. When I was sixteen this area was prime location to get a party started.

A group of us would pile into our Maui beaters and head to the airport to see a friend off to college. We'd hike up the escalator, pass agriculture inspection and head left toward the higher numbered gates, which were the sure signs you were leaving the islands. Then the fun began.

While waiting for the flight we would talk story and try to find something to ease the departure of a dear friend. One time in particular we decided the wheelchairs should be put too good use. There were three or four of them behind an abandoned ticket counter, and after practicing for a bit, we felt the only thing that seemed fitting was a wheel chair race. The fun would never end because you were with your friends, and although we were watching one leave, we knew soon it would be our turn for the masses to pile in cars and head to the airport party.

Today, as I stood in a ridiculously long line to enter the “secure area” there had to be at least 50 employees “working" for my safety. As I laid my backpack on the conveyor belt and my laptop in a gray bucket, I laughed when an employee told me that my laptop needed further inspection. He ran a circular swab up and down my computer and put in a machine to test for explosives. I wonder, do you think it is possible that instead of checking for explosives he was actually secretly cleaning my computer for my flying convenience? Cleanliness was only a further precaution to insure my safety. So finally after the probing and prodding, I looked down upon the mess while riding the escalator. Little worker ants trying to repair a flaw in the ant hill.

That was the least of my worries. I got off the escalator and looked around at an ever so familiar airport. I scanned the restaurants and the grossly expensive gift shops.... then bam!!! A fucking Starbucks in the Maui airport!!! An outrage! OGG how could you do this to me? Clearly judging by atmosphere it doesn’t belong. It was 85 degrees out! No one wants to by a latte! Now intermingled with various Hawaiian displays showcasing island work a Starbucks! People come to paradise to get away from the hassles of life, right? Paradise was fine without the five-dollar a coffee Starbucks. Maybe a nice Kona Coffee stand with locally grown products. The wonderful wheelchair race my closest friends has turned into a lonely mocha cappuccino with double espresso.

My Pink Palace Of Clothes Washing Goodness

One new thing I had to learn when moving to Richmond was going to the laundromat. I had grown accustomed to taking my dirty wears down to the basement for the past three years at the hotties pi residence, but my new roommate apparently sees no need for the cleaning devices. But my having to go to a laundromat is not the concern of this story.

What is concerning, however, was the event that transpired today. First, I think we must return to my first meeting with my Cary Town Pink Laundromat to make what happened today carry any weight.

I chose it because it was pink and had free off-the-street parking. The pink was inviting as if to say "I'm a cool laundromat. I'm pink." At least that's what it said to me.

Additionally, I figured since they alloted parking stalls for the laundromat that they must have really thought about the consumer which could only indicate they thought about the simplicity of the process inside. For the most part I was right, though I've never been to another laundromat to test out whether it is easier than other laundromats.

At the Pink Palace, I enjoyed my concepting time while I listened to the hums of my five washing machines. I had gown accustom to sitting in my little row of yellow, plastic seats thinking about eggs and toothpicks. I'd put quarters in and my machines sang me a little ditty. I paid a buck and got a song. Kinda like itunes 99cent songs, but better, way better. The machines had a rich organic sound, non of that processed shit*.

However, today they sang me no ditty. I'm not even sure where my five washing machines are right now. Halfway to Hong Kong by now or at least in some Henrico County landfill. Maybe they are at a thrift store waiting for me to buy them so they can sing to me again. I hope so. Who wants to help me search?

*i don't owe a quarter. Please refer to Alex for justification.

Mr Forsberg and Crushed Dreams

I was rummaging through one of my old sketchbooks today and I found a great quote from my former friend mr peter forsberg.

And so the story begins:

My sisters once went to a burlesque club and they happened upon mr joe sackic (current captain of the colorado avalanche) and mr peter forsberg (former avs assistance captain, current publicly traded NHL slut). They overheard the following conversation forever crushing my untainted notions of mr forsberg.

mr sakic proceeds to ask mr forsberg, "do you know any of the girls dancing?"

mr forsberg responds, " I can't tell with their clothes on."

he totally changed since that day we met at stevenson auto on march 25 1997. i'll always remember the mr forsberg i knew before he opened his mouth to speak.

Virginia Beaches: An Examination

So here are photos from the day off.

This first one is the entrance to the beach. It's always interesting that beaches on the east coast always seem to have fences to herd you into the beach as though to say, "hey this way to the beach. No, not that way. This way." The best is yet to come.

So here we are with a headless, dead seagull. It's hard to say where his head has gone to. That's another things different about east coast beaches: the headless seagull. Well, really seagulls in general but headless ones too. They make for a good photograph flying in the sky or headless, dead on the sand. If you were wondering, Alex and Eb buried our new found friend mr. headless gull. Onward

The sand is a lot more course than the motherland. Nice, but not nearly as soft. Virginia sand is like fleece and Maui sand is cashmere.

Also, these east coast beaches love their grasses and big hills. Strangely beautiful. It was a beautiful day, but then it became cold, oh so very cold. So we huddled together for warmth but it didn't work.

So we said goodbye to the beautiful east coast beach. Forever in my heart you are fair beach of Virginia.

Also,

I now have an all access pass to all the richmond renegades games not that anyone cares.