Proof That I'm Immature and a Total Nerd

I don't know if you've heard, because this is like, hot off the press business, but last night a new trend hit the streets. Nevermind, of course you haven't heard yet, because I invented it due to my massive Awesome. I start trends and stuff like every day.

So it's not really a trend so much as a stupid fucking nerd game that I'm playing with myself, but whatever. You are going to love it. Or perhaps, this will be a turning point on my blog, where everyone realizes that I am completely and totally full of shit and a waste of space and time, atmospherically, dimensionally, and interwebically.

Whatever. Any statement I put forth must be regarded as fact. This is predicated almost entirely by my infallible insight, obsession with Harry Potter, and a deep, unrivaled understanding of American History. And because I just finished watching the HBO John Adams miniseries which basically makes me a Fucking Expert In Everything.

I've spent the past twelve hours figuratively placing former US presidents in Hogwarts Houses.

It. Is. Way. Fun.

But if you lack that rumbling, volcanic desire the place every single person you meet in personality and social categories, you probably don't give a shit. But I do that. I'm like the human Sorting Hat. I meet you, and within my brain you are immediately assigned a color, an animal personality, a Hogwarts House, a walk song. A smell. Then everyone is filed and cross-referenced. In my brain.

Apparently, I like saying "brain."

For example, let's take Schmee. Violet, sea lion, Hufflepuff, "Rio" by Duran Duran, and giggles. She is also very shiny. Yeah, Schmee, you smell and sound like giggles. Get over it.

Sometimes, people get confused and offended when I talk about how they smell and sound, so I don't do that anymore. Except around M.E., she gets it. Because it's not like, "Hey, you smell like garlic, did you eat spaghetti?" it's like, "You sound blue-ish, but not in a sad way, in a color way" and then I have to explain what blue sounds like, and do you know how hard that is? It looks like how cilantro and secrets smell, and tennis balls and just-about-to-snow. Sometimes people sound like colors that are unscented, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Task at hand: Presidents and Hogwarts Houses. Essentially, this is the most fun my head has had in weeks.

So like, Obama, Jefferson? Bush the first? Ravenclaw.

Both Roosevelts? Truman? Andrew Jackson? Gryffindor. (Now, now, I know we don't all like Jackson for that shit he pulled with the Trail of Tears, but if we're going to base all of our presidents' valor and bravery off of how they treated the Native Americans, every single president up until Carter...okay, every. single. president. would be considered evil).

Nixon? McKinley? Clinton? Slytherin.

Reagan? Polk? Ford? Hufflepuff.

Awwwwww yeah. I got shit down. I am one cool motherfucker. Self-high-five.

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I Know That Artax Lives

When I was little, I hated The Neverending Story. Fuckers killed Artax, like the gutless horse-butcher-ers they are, and I cried for days and swore to boycott for ten years. If Atreyu really cared he would have tried harder.

See, yesterday we were watching Troll on VHS with the asinine, optimistic mindset that it would be some fantastic horror movie instead of a weak ass fantasy with Sonny Bono and Julia Louis Dreyfuss. It was very upsetting.

Until we started to pay attention.

Troll is about Harry Potter Jr. (booyah), a young boy who must battle Turok the Evil Troll King to regain controll over his family's apartment complex in San Francisco, which has been turned into a magical pod forest by a tiny man shaped like his little sister. His father, Harry Potter Sr. (played groovily by Law and Order's first answer to Harvey Dent) enjoys dancing to 80's thrash metal versions of "Summertime Blues" in his pleated khakis, his mother has the hots for him, and his sister is a scary little troll.

We're happily watching a potted mushroom wail a little happy ditty when Phil, being an observant fuck, exclaims, "I know who that is. It's friggin' Atreyu."

"Atreyu? Hell fucking no. Harry Potter Jr. is the shit, and Atreyu is a whiny little wimp. He let Artax die in the Swamp of Sadness." My brain adds, and Harry Potter Jr. is totally going to grow up hot. I cross my arms, immediately bitter and no longer fascinated by anything on the screen.

Tokyo agrees with Phil. Figures. "No, it's totally fucking him."

"Fine." I stomp over to the computer and IMDB the crap outta Troll. Sho 'nuf, Harry Potter Jr. and Atreyu are one and the same. I am horrorstruck, but warm from drinking lots of wine.

After googling my way through Noah Hathaway pictures, I notice two very important things:

1. Current Atreyu looks like a cross between Seth Green and Keanu Reeves, and I think the three of them need to make a movie where they play brothers and don't goddamn kill any horses.

2. Next summer, a remake of Troll will be released, and Noah Hathaway will be playing Turok the Evil Troll King. I'm gunning for Daniel Radcliffe for Harry Potter Jr.

Anyway...

It's been sixteen years now, and I'm pretty sure I'm emotionally capable enough to manage the death of a fictional horse in a Jim Henson movie.

So wish me luck. Tonight, for the second time in my life, I will be watching The Neverending Story.

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I am red as all get-out.

First of all, I decided to check my ‘space before picking up Harry Potter, because once that book is in my hands I'm fucking reading until it's done.

Second of all: Fantastic bachelorette party.

1. Rooftop cubs game. Rules. Excellent food and lots of booze. Love.

2. Everyone made friends with this kinda hot guy on the rooftop who was wearing white pants (haha, lame).

3. At the game we decided we were going to go to Rossi's (the bar) and hang out for awhile once the game was over. My phone runs out of batteries.

4. Left the cubs game and I got separated from everyone. So I hopped on the red line and went to Rossi's alone, ordered a PBR, lit a cigarette, asked Lynn Meyers (bartender) if I could charge my phone behind the bar, and opened up Harry Potter. Yes, it came with me to the bachelorette party.

5. Everyone at the bar wanted to talk to me about the goddamn book. "Is it good? How far are you? How many pages is it?" etc. etc. etc. I'm trying to read, here, people. But eventually I just put the book away and made friends. There's Gary, and old guy wearing a t-shirt for The Color Purple, who talked to me about what it was like being the only black kid in a Catholic school. And Jim, who was also at the Cubs game, the kind of guy who wears sunglasses with a string attached, and who booked it over to Rossi's to avoid his wife, who kept on calling him.

6. After about an hour of talking, I check my phone to see if it's charged. It is. I call people, and they're all like, "where are you?" and I'm just like, "duh, Rossi's."

7. I stay at the bar for like forty more minutes and then leave and walk over to the hotel. I am pleasantly hammered and it's six thirty. Before I can even get inside, Fraya snags me and is all like, "lets get beer and cigarettes." Ok. We go on a mile hike to find a Jewel or White Hen (the only ones I knew about were far, so we walked over there all stumbley-like down Michigan Avenue.)

8. Bought booze and began the trek back to the hotel. I'm sunburned as all fuck, and we watch some tap dancing street guys and give them like six bucks because they were awesome and I was drunk. Me and Fraya just stood there for like fifteen minutes clapping and cheering, and eventually a crowd formed around us and started giving the tap kids more money. Our work there was done. So then we leave.

9. We get back to the hotel with our sixpack and head over to room 1216 or something, and when we get there we hear serious cheering. Pound on the door, Schmee opens it a crack and is like, "Prepare yourself." So then we go inside and there's hardcore porn on the television, everyone is hammered, cheering, and watching the guy with the white pants from the rooftop take off his white pants (thank god, because white pants are LAME). I was thinking, "way to go Schmee, secret stripper. Excellent." But he was just a random dude that they convinced to leave his friends and come back to the hotel and strip for them. Amazing.

10. Everyone leaves to go to dinner except me and Fraya, and we hang out with The Amateur Stripper for awhile and finish off our beers. We make fun of his pants for about an hour.

11. Powell gets back to the hotel and we decide to head over to Rossi's again. Walk the couple of blocks over there and stop at 7-11 for cheap dinner sandwiches and go into Rossi's. People remember me from earlier, and they're all like, "How was Harry Potter? You find your bachelorette party?" and I'm like, "yeah, they convinced a guy to strip for us for free at the hotel and now they're eating tapas and drinking sangria, but we came here for 7-11 sandwiches and PBR." I am all class, I swear to god.

12. Fraya is hammered and goes back to the hotel and passes out for the night. This is at like ten.

13. Me and Powell make friends with a guy named Donny and he leaves his friends and follows us around for the rest of the night. He followed us to Mothers, where we met up with the rest of the party and kidnapped Muffy and sang some quick karaoke, and then to Estelle’s even though we never went inside, and then back to my apartment and slept on the LayZBoy.

14. Just before Mothers I take sixty bucks out of the ATM.

15. While we were hanging outside of Estelle’s they decided they wanted food (Powell, Muffy, and random guy Donny) so they went into Flash Taco to get burritos, and I started talking to a hip hop performer named Calloway who was selling his CD's on the sidewalk. I give him two dollars for one and realize that my sixty dollars is missing. I'm fucking hammered and don't really care. I probably put my card in the ATM and left the money there. I suck.

16. Calloway keeps me company for awhile and does some freestyling for me, which I think was impressive, but I really can't recall. Everyone comes out of flash taco with their burritos and I give Calloway a hug before he hands me a slip of paper with his Myspace page on it, and we head over to Estelle’s. The Compatriots want to eat outside so they sit down on a cement wall under a viaduct. Two guys are there with two dogs named Leopold and Belle. These dogs RULE. Leopold is a smallish American Bulldog (I mean, he was still huge, but he didn't look like beefsteak like some bulldogs) and he becomes my newest bestest friend while everyone is eating.

17. They decide they don't want to go to the bar. Fine. Lame. We have no cash so we walk home. Donny gives Powell a piggy back ride half the way.

18. Get home, turn on Venture Brothers, and hang out before it's pass out o'clock.

19. Wake up this morning and head over to IHOP, where I find my sixty dollars in my wallet.

20. And here I am. Sunburn. It's about time for some serious Harry Potter 7.

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I'm about as good at washing dishes as Buddah was at nonattachment.

the facts:

Fact 1: I have always wanted to build a clock. And I have all the supplies, gears, cogs, whatnot, even a pendulum. Unfortunately, they are all made out of paper, and I don't have time. Because it takes time to make time.

Fact 2: Once, I ran over someone's digital camera with my car. On purpose. I aimed and everything.

Fact 3: I can't stop listening to Warren Zevon lately.

Fact 4: Tonight, I shall join the throngs of prats waiting in line to purchase HP7, although I will not be in costume. MoLinder might be.

Fact 5: I've developed a phone crush on one of the principals of a school we work with here at BSF. Swear to god, he has the sexiest voice ever, because he's not trying to be hot, I mean he's a principal of a Catholic high school, but he always sounds so casual and guyish, and he snickers. He recognizes the songs on my radio over the phone. "You listenin to 'Never Been To Spain?' That song's awesome." And then I swoon slightly once he starts singing along. It's not that he has an extraordinary voice, it's just always enjoyable. Like, he has the vocal equivalent of cheese fries.

Fact 6: I am awesome at washing dishes. I'm about as good at washing dishes as Bruce Willis is at playing John McLane, or as good as MCA is at having a sexy voice, or as good as Buddah was at nonattachment.

Fact 7: I am not, however, good at nonattachment.

Fact 8: I haven't remembered a dream in like a month, which sucks, because I usually remember about four a week. I think it's because of this new job. Waking up early always hinders my ability to remember a dream.

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