go see this movie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yr7GpE-ka7Y

there’re gun nerds?

i went shooting yesterday in south county. aliso viejo, aliso creek, aliso niguel hills viejo, whatever fuckin city it was, i cant keep them straight. i went with my good friend tracy and her boyfriend jason. jason and i had shot guns before but it was tracy’s first time. we walk in and are immediately struck by the timeless witty banter from the gun shop personnel. you know they use the same bad jokes on everyone theyve never seen before. my favorite part about the gun range employees are that they all wear guns on their hips; in south county. on a bad day, there might be a shoplifting charge from cosco. there is NO crime in south county, let alone any crime that would necesitate the possesion of a personal firearm. the gun range in LA has all of their employees wearing guns as well, but that makes a bit of sense, its actually quite dodgy in that neighborhood. south county, on the other hand, is the epitome of white america. surely theyre just loving their ability to milk the second ammendment right of ones right to bear arms. and boy are these guys bearing them. anyways, we start off with something small so tracy can get used to the feeling of shooting a gun. we grab a gloc 9mm with 50 rounds of ammo. i think i was the more experienced between jason and i, im not sure frankly, it doesnt really matter, but i thought i was, so i took the gun and started loading it. fortunately it jammed before i could even take a shot, so im standing in our lane trying (without knowledge of how to do so) to unjam this gloc without it going off in my hands. i managed to get it unjammed somehow and the bullets fell on the floor. i was off to a great start. then after reloading, my very first shot was perfectly dead center in the target dudes chest. is it a coincidence that the gun store guys are all very clearly republican and all of the guys on the targets are black? i think not. jason shot the 9mm without incident, i think he actually shot better than me, then we handed tracy the gun and her first two shots hit the ceiling of the end of the range. we knew they hit the ceiling because parts of the ceiling fell onto the range. the guys next to us were looking around the lane dividers to see who was shooting and were laughing to one another when she hit the ceiling again. it was great, she scared the shit out of them.

then we traded in the gloc for a s&w .357. ive always enjoyed this gun. my dad had a matching pair of them when i was growing up, so i have shot them in the past. that gun was fun. i like revolvers because i can pull the hammer back and feel super awesome, like im in a western. kicking ass, of course. so i shot the black dudes on the targets. shot the shit out of them actually, i killed it with the .357. it was around this time when the dildos next to us walked from their lane to the bench where they had the guns that they brought from home. these guys were around my age, mid-20’s, and have clearly spent a pretty amount of money on guns. thats weird. i go shoot for fun, with the ranges guns, that seems normal, theres something not right about a 26 year old gun enthusiast. call me crazy, but that strikes me as a bit off. then i saw the gun this asshole pulled out of the case. it was a solid gold plated .50 caliber desert eagle. even the sites were gold. then, as if i wasnt annoyed by him enough, he pulle dout his hollow point ammo, because if you shoot hollow points at paper the exit wound is going to be much bigger, right? he grabs his gun, puts the gold clip in the gold pistol, and as everyone is oooooing and awwwwwing over this assholes taste in weaponry, he walks by all cocky and says “yeah, this is how you roll if youre a pimp.” and i threw up in my mouth a little bit. thats why i travel, is to get away from people like that. thank you, gun nerd, for giving me reason to see the world to prove that there are people out there that arent as bad as you are.

im standing in my lane shooting the last few rounds of our .357 when this guy pulls the trigger on his cannon and not only is it damn near deafening, even through my headphone things, but i actually felt the explosion from the barrel 5 feet away. it reminded me of when a car blows up n the movies and the guy who is like 30 feet away gets thrown through the air. this cannon expelled a force that i cant recall having ever experienced before because i imagine that had that same force been brought on me so closely away from a controlled environment, id be dead.

so we decided to get one. tracy had long given up on shooting, she realized pretty quickly that she wasnt cut out for it, but i dig that she was into giving it a shot; pun mildly intended.

ordering guns at the gun joint it somewhat comical, you just point at which particular deadly piece of equipment you fancy the most, and its yours, for 5 american dollars. i asked if they took vietnamese dong, and they didnt get it. i also asked if theyd seen lord of war, because theyd fucking love it, and they didnt get that either. my humor was being shot down left and right. pun a little more intended this time. jason and i looked over the options for the .50 caliber weapons and settled on the s&w .50 caliber handgun. it literally weighed 5 pounds. the bullets were 3 dollars each, and are so big in diameter, that in a revolver that ordinarily holds 6 rounds, this gun only holds 5 because the bullets are so big around. walking into the lane again, i felt like a real man. haha. of course im kidding. a little bit. i let jason shoot first, because he beat me at rochambeau, and when he pulled the trigger, the fire fromt he muzzle flash was literally a foot and a half across the barrel of the gun, his hands came a good 8 inches above his eye line from the kick, all of the other 8 people shooting around us stopped and poked their heads around to see what the fuck was going on, and jason turned and looked at me with a smirk of sheer satisfaction as he pulled the hammer back to fire his second of 2 bullets. as i was shooting, the golden gun asshole next door started rambling about the size of the bullets, inflating the size of his penis, because up until our impeding on his rep, he was the dude everyone wanted to be like when they grew up. instead of buying us beers, he told us that our bullets werent as big and sketchy as they could be, and presumably and big and sketchy as his were. then we left, completely fulfilled, and glad i put my second ammendment right to use.

walking away i pointed out to jason and tracy that we were just hanging out with gun nerds. itd never crossed my mind, but i suppose it makes sense, there are fanatical people about everything. even blog fanatics.

some books of late

sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs by chuck klosterman
eleven minutes by paulo coelho
the zahir also by paulo coelho
the unbearable lightness of being by milan kindera
the sun also rises by ernest hemingway
man’s search for meaning by viktor frankl
my friend leonard by james frey
no logo by naomi klein
stay alive, my son by pin yathay
you shall know our velocity by dave eggars
dispatches by michael herr
lonely planet guide to southeast asia

im not your “bro”, bro

went to starbucks again this afternoon to get a late afternoon mocha after working up a sweat delivering a package at fedex. i know, its a tough job, but someones gotta do it. anyways, this is the same starbucks that i cold-shouldered barbie at a few weeks ago, so im a huge fan of the characters here. i get to the front of the line to order, and am standing face to face with the typical guy i cant stand. black hair that is sort of spiked, sort of pushed back; you can tell he just grabs a handful of gel and runs his hands back through his porcupine shaped wig until its perfectly shitty. right away he pissed me off when i got the “whats up bro?”, all forceful like hes trying to make sure i know hes an awesome dude who is just working at starbucks to pay for his weekly beer money. its even more irritating because i heard him being as polite as possible to middle aged woman in front of me. what makes him think im any less mature, or any closer to being at his level than the woman in front of me? i dont work at subway, man, i dont need you to bro out with me. then he pissed me off. trying to get tight with me for whatever reason, he found himself comfortable enough with me to make jokes at my expense, as though we were old cronies getting back together for a reunion at the bucks. he asked what he could get me, and i ordered, in as manly a tone as possible, a tall white mocha with non-fat milk and no whip. instead of earning his 8 dollars an hour quietly, he stopped writing on the cup, looks up at me with a “what the fuck” look on his face and says, “are you serious?” im not sure what he was expecting me to say here, “yeah, im gay, give me my drink” or “no, im just kidding man, ill have a 40 of old english if youve got it.” instead i made a last ditch effort to appease this guys dire need to bro down with me and told him i was watching my figure. he conceded finally and put in my order. then, i go over to the glass bakery shelf thing and him-haw around trying to decide which delicacy to purchase for myself, when finally i settle on the pumpkin and cream cheese muffin, with which i am very familiar. he grabs one, and as if trying to hold back the whole time he was getting it, he finally just blurted out, “have you had this before bro?” “yes, i have, several times.” “oh man, cuz theyre f– (looked around to see if anyone heard him almost say a naughty word) bomb man, these things are bomb!” “yeah, theyre good, man.” “oh, bro, i wanted to say the ‘f-word’ then bomb, bro. these things are effin bomb, bro. oh, good choice brother.” i just wanted to leave at this point. i was so overwhelmingly over dealing with this guy it was worth missing out on my twilight mocha. of ocurse, i chose to stick it out, though torturous, for sure. once i got to the paying stage, i figured anything was possible, i was waiting for h im to jump the counter and near hug me and invite me to his next frat party down in newport. total was 5 something, and all i had was a hundred, which i tried to break, but he suggested i pay with a credit card or something smaller because all he had was ones and fives, and then made some stupid reference to me coming across as a stripper with all those small bills on me. i dont even know what he said, frankly, id completely tuned him out by that point. i did, however, catch a “later, brother.” as i was on my way out the door, as though i was gonna come back and rap out with him about mochas and how gay non-fat milk is.

that guy needs a different job. he needs to work as a car salesman, not a barrista

its a beautiful day

a little back story…

back in january, i was in chicago on a business trip and was lounging around the recording studio i was filming wasting time which became an integral part of the trip (but thats a whole separate story), and i was browsing etrade checking out stocks. being an apple afficianado, i had a look to see how their stock was doing and saw that it was at a record high. im pretty in tune with what apples got going on, this is well before intel, which id heard about for quite some time, so as far as i was concerned its got nowhere to go but up. i would also like to preface the rest of this story by saying that i have the worst luck in recorded history. that said, the next day, apples stock, which id bought on a sunday at $85.75 per share, dropped a record 54%. having paid for the stock after the market had closed on friday, my purchase didnt go through until monday morning, so when the market opened and apple was down around $40 and change, my shares weren’t purchased yet, but it was too late to call off the purchase.

over the next 10 months apple went down even deeper, almost to a point where i was considering my money gone. THEN, two days ago, apple, inc. hit $85 and i was even! then i looked at my etrade account, and found that there are charges for buying stocks, so i was actually still negative, today however, my shares were listed in green for the first time in the history of my etrade account. apple hit $90 today, which is the highest its ever been, and ive raked in a whopping $7 per month for the last 10 months. hopefully the IRS doesnt come after me for their 35%.

3 day weekend in a nutshell

every time i die/atreyu show in irvine with grant and del
straight up to LA for paul franks melrose store opening
found myself asleep on some dudes couch in huntington at 3 am
got to sleep in my bed at 4 am
up at 9 am
in LA with grant again to shoot paul frank store event until 4 pm
leave for vegas at 4:30
get to vegas in time for the every time i die/atreyu shows last two songs
stage dive and landed directly on the floor
straight to $700 sushi dinner
gambled at the hard rock
gambled at the palms
gambled at i dont even know where we ended up gambling
got dragged to strip club from 2 - 5 am
back to mandalay bay for more gambling
managed to get a left over room from the band dudes at 7 am
sleep til 11 am
downstairs to gamble
on board winnebago at 1 pm
stopped 30 minutes outside vegas for “lunch” and left 3 hours later after more gambling
back on road about 5 pm
saw worst pre-police accident of my life
straight to LA to catch last 3 songs of killswitch engages secret show at the key club
home around 11 pm

holy shit

pictures from asia

if youre into it, you can check out the pictures from my trip here…

http://web.mac.com/superheroproductions

prague excerpt

Growing up I never had anything to worry about. I was by no stretch of the imagination spoiled, but everything was always provided, my parents were always very supportive, loving, and willing to do what it took to provide for me. I was very fortunate, and am very gracious for what I was given, but once I moved out of my mom’s house and into my own place, I was on my own. I paid for my own trips, my home was purchased entirely on my own, and I was living off of doing what id grown up doing as a hobby.
That said, here I am in Prague, half way around the world on my own dime, sitting at the apex of a castle that is hundreds of years old, looking over a beautiful river as the sun was reaching its climax with several small sailing boats racing along in its reflection, immaculate country-side to my right and a beautiful cityscape to my left, and I had an epiphany. I realized all at once how fortunate I was, how lucky I was to have gotten through the legal problems that I had with a slap on the wrist, and how immature and childish it was for me to want to leave everything that I’d accomplished in the editing world to go sit in a cubicle to make more money. There was a quote from the movie Blow where Ray Liota told the child playing Johnny Depps role, “Money isn’t real, it doesn’t matter, it only seems like it does.” That quote jumped into my head, and it couldn’t have been more clear. Money isn’t real, your experiences are fucking real. I thought about myself in 60 years, lying on my death-bed, telling my grandson that while I never left the country because I was too busy working, I made a hell of a lot of money. Those aren’t the stories I want to tell when im old, I want to talk about seeing the world, falling in love, and experiencing the things that money can’t buy, because those are the things that make life worth living, not a porshce and an unmanageable mortgage. I started to cry, I cried because I was happy. I was happy that I’d come here, I was happy that I’d been through all that I’d been through and didn’t let it ruin my life. There is a staggering statistic that 80% of the people who go to jail end up going back. Eight out of ten people who go to jail become career criminals and are sentenced to a life of cons and setbacks. I evaded that revolving door, and I came out way on top. I considered myself to be part of that exception five months earlier when I took my first trip to Europe the day after I got off my three years of probation. Now, a mere 41 months after walking out of jail, I had made it through the three hardest years for a criminal, I persevered, got a good job, honed my skills as an editor, bought my first house, and made the trip to Europe not just once, but twice. I was on top of the world, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. That was the single most revolutionary moment of my life as an adult. No other realization or decision has had a bigger impact on me.

motorcycle diaries, redux

i just jumped on board what sounds like an amazing adventure. eight of my old/close friends and i are planning to purchase street legal, enduro dirtbikes in the next couple months and spend the duration of 2007 training. training will consist of learning how to ride a motorcycle, getting a motorcycle license, taking small trips up and down the coast of california and eventually into canada and mexico. then, in april 2008, we are taking 3 weeks, a backpack, and a sleeping bag, and are driving all the way down to panama followed by a luxurious ferry boat ride back up the coast to beautiful southern california.

having just watched motorcycle diaries for the first time earlier this week, i couldnt be more excited about this journey. also, considering this whole idea of writing a book, ive been tossing around ideas for a second one once i get this first one finished, but only really find myself able to write the way that i do about my experiences. im not a fiction writer, i lack the creativity that david eggars exudes with “you shall know our velocity” and i dont have the insight that others have to the intracacies of life for a philosophical novel, so i couldnt be more excited to do this trip, and have an amazing story to tell at its conclusion.

stay tuned

moral victory

i went to starbucks this morning. not the new one by my house that i am still excited about, i just wasnt feeling that one this morning, i opted for one in newport for a change of scenery. i got it.

as im walking in from the parking lot, a girl, a drop-dead, stereotypically gorgeous newport beach girl, walks in right in front of me. she came from the brand new land rover that was parked right next to my $2500, lowered, ‘98 accord. she was about 5′ 10″, weighed maybe 110 pounds, was absolutely going to throw up whatever she consumed at starbucks when she got home, had massive dior sunglasses on, an incredibly low cut shirt which i imagine to be a couple hundred dollar item from gucci or something, this shirt did her newly imported boobs a huge service, as they were almost completely out, as well as possibly the shortest shorts possible without crossing the line to being considered underwear. it was great. she looked as though she was either, a) a stripper (at a classy club, of course), or b) the bored girlfriend/wife/mistress/slampiece of an incredibly wealthy mortgage industry guru.

as we walk in, clearly not together, we walk by the few early-mid-life guys sitting at the little tables enjoying their early morning fraps, all of which stop whatever it was that they were doing, some mid-drink, some peering over their newspaper pretending to still be reading, some looking up from their emails they were typing on their laptop or blackberry, and they all watch her go by with jaws dropped and eyes transfixed, unable to remove themselves from the tractor beam that seemed to be this girls ass. i could give two shits about this girl. the only thing more prominent than how hot everyone besides me thinks this girl is, is that not only does she realize shes that hot, but actually thinks she has something besides her looks to offer these would-be suitors. and to her defense, she probably does, but none of these guys would ever acknowledge that. a couple of the guys looked at me when i crossed paths with their eyes and gave me the smile and nod as if to say “yeah man, talk to her for all of us!”

standing in line behind this girl was as though i was on a date with pam anderson, even the women were staring. she orders god knows what, and then makes her way backwards through the natural line that i am next in, to the glass bakery case thing that houses the muffins, of which i am a huge fan. she hims and haws, trying to resolve the biggest conflict of her day by choosing the appropriate pastry for this outfit, and in more of an attempt to hurry her along to make my order than to hit on her, i politely suggest the blueberry muffin. she asks me if im sure, i nod confidently and tell her that itll change her life, she thinks its cute, so she gets one. i order my grande, white, non-fat mocha, with no whip, and make my way over to the sugar/napkin area where the bane of my love life is standing knowing how hot she is and how desparately im going to try and acquire her phone number. i reach next to her to pick up the newest edition of rupert murdochs ney york times to see whats going on, smile as i cross back in front of her, and post up not two feet away from her reading the paper.

i can see her looking over her shoulder every so often checking to see if im looking at her, each time all i can do is smile inside knowing how irritated she is that im not oogling over her, and they call her name, i kid you not, “candy, your whatever whatever is ready.” how perfect that this girls name is “candy.” and off she walks, out of starbucks, and out of my life, attracting as much attention on the way out as she attracted on the way in.

i feel as though i won. despite my most recent post about how annoyed i get with myself for not talking to a girl, i couldnt be happier about not talking to this girl, for several reasons, some of which i will detail:

1) her name was candy.
2) the least attractive quality in a girl to me is when she KNOWS how hot she is, and acts like it.
3) i didnt want to give her the satisfaction of getting the attention shes used to getting.
4) i didnt have a chance with her.
5) say i did have a chance with her, sooooo not my type.
6) say i did have a chance with her, and she was my type, im not in a hurry to date a girl that will attract attention like that at 9 am while getting coffee. im not a jealous person, but theres a line that needs to be drawn somewhere.

please note: i will be the first to admit that, while i feel like i wasnt being a chauvanist by not giving this girl the attention she was looking for, it may be construed by some that i indeed acted chauvinistically in this blog by assuming so many things about her. my only justification is that i am totally not a chauvinist, and that you cant leave the house dressed like that and not expect these assertions to be made about you.