I can't wait for 2010. I tend to complain a lot about 2009 but I guess it wasn't that bad. I do, however, have a couple of hangups that I want to get rid of before the clock strikes twelve. Does anyone else out there feel the same?

My friend Tim didn't believe in New Years Resolutions. He said resolutions should be made in general. I totally agree, but New Years is a good point as any to start. I had Halloween Resolutions, but I forgot what they were. Then I had a Christmas Resolution to not spend all my Christmas money before New Years. So far, I'm successful. But just barely. I hope your resolutions go well in 2010! I'm shooting to gain some weight by working out. I might buy a longboard and a surf rack for my bike so I can get that ripped bod I always wanted.

2010 is the Year of the Tiger, bitches! So a shout out to all my Tiger people. I know Chinese New Years isn't for another month but why not? I'm just happy to have lived this long. I had a couple of friends die this year, so that really makes me appreciate my life. Plus I'm in Hawaii! One of the most beautiful places in the world! There's no need to get all gloomy when I have sun and surf.

Well. I just want to wish everyone the best this year. Be safe but have fun!

~Julius

Ugly Betty's Abortion

Last night's episode of Ugly Betty had Hilda and Betty in pregnancy scares, which left me to wonder, would Betty Suarez ever get the Big A? I think she would. But ABC would never have the balls to send Betty to Planned Parenthood. It's just not funny. Which leads me to this post's thesis: lots of laughs can come from pregnancy, not so much from abortion.

With movies like Knocked Up and Juno, Americans have become used to accidental baby shenanigans but early termination, on the other hand, just doesn't crack us up. So Betty's producers impregnated Hilda instead. They've already dumped dimply Archie and replaced him with baby-daddy DILF Bobby, so you know that embryo ain't getting the vacuum hose anytime soon.

Personally, I am pro-choice. And pro-funny. South Park is probably the only series that will go there (i.e. Christopher Reeves sucking the spinal fluid out of aborted fetuses for their stem cells), but as long as mainstream America keeps a scarlet letter on the topic, women's rights will always come second to social norms.

Christmas Shoes

Patton Oswalt - Christmas Shoes - watch more funny videos

I just had to post this.

Hey, Tiger. Shut up!

I really don't understand this whole Tiger Woods situation. There was a car crash and then a mistress and then the wifey is making statements. Am I the only person in the world who doesn't really care? I mean, this story is second in the headlines only to the president's speech about the war in Afganistan. If even.

Maybe if Tiger played a game that actually had defense he'd be able to escape the media blitz. The damn fool's making apologies left and right, telling everyone he let his family down and didn't live up to his values. CNN is gonna eat that shit up, dude! Hey, Tiger. Shut the fuck up. Who do you think you are, Gov. Sanford of South Carolina?

Reportedly, Levi Johnston got paid over $100,000 for his spread in Playgirl...and he didn't even go full pickle! What a wimp. I wanted to see his retarded baby maker.

My First Turkey...

...was salty, but hey. You live, you learn. I found myself thanking the dead bird for bringing my family together. I think it was all the trytophan and dehydration.

An odd thing I want to note: my aunt and uncle were joking around about marijuana in the stuffing. The mischievous part of me was hoping that they wanted to get high, perhaps relieve some tension. My family thrives on tension, though. Someday, I'm going to slip in some special butter into a desert. They'll never know the difference.

My grandmother is more frail than ever. Skinny, small, weary. She's waiting to die, but she ain't goin' out with a bang, let me tell you. When I'm in my final years, I'm going to do the craziest things. Wear the most outrageous clothes in public. Say anything and everything on my mind. I'd have earn it for surviving.

"Lola," I told her. Lola is Filipino for grandmother. "You should be happy you lived this long."

...

I chose not to participate on Black Friday, not to rebel against the capitalistic machine that drives our country into an unreasonable shopping frenzy, not because I'm desperately broke (I actually have an income this season...what a miracle), but because I wasn't in the mood to deal with crowds. There's a little thing called 'mob mentality' that I'm not a fan of. When grouped together in large numbers, we humans behave differently, think collectively, but usually it's destructive, ie soccer fans riots. I'm still cherishing some new found freedoms that I don't want to squander away at William Sonoma, thank you.

Also, I watched a little of The View on Thanksgiving Day, and fucking Sherri and Khloe Kardashian were hocking stupid products to middle-class, middle-aged housewives, talking about cooking dinner for their man, setting back the feminist movement about thirty years. That did not make me want to participate. I didn't know women were so eager to feed men.

And now...bring on the Christmas carols.

Spearheading Turkey Day

Wish me luck readers. I'm taking charge tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, and preparing dinner for my lackluster Filipino Family. The meal will be your basic turkey with rice instead of mashed potates, pumpkin and custard pie (store-bought), and gyoza/potstickers for starters. I might save the gyoza for Friday, when I attend an actual dinner with friends that care about the ceremony of feasting. Does anyone out there have similar families with a disinterest towards the holidays.

I'm not too brokenhearted; the disappointment was to be expected like a Sedaris memoir waiting to happen. That's kind of how my mom's side of the family works. Content. Modest. Anticlimactic. When I do manage to round up the gang for a celebration, as I did at my 23rd birthday, the result does become rompous.

Grandma, elated with joy in her fragile state, starts behaving like a 2 year old. Old uncle, about the same age as my grandmother but married to her daughter, my aunt, turns into a rascal. My aunt is grateful and my younger uncle remains critical. Oh, and there's the partially estranged uncle that might show up. Note to self: invite estranged uncle to increase family relations, if not tensions. I'm going to have a Thanksgiving, goddamnit, even if it means I have to strap them down and force feed them with chopsticks.

I better get on Santa's good list for this.

I Have The Power

With the help of Facebook's security team, I managed to eradicate the profile of an abusive internet user, Iokepa De. There is justice after all. I am not using this platform to brag about such minor an accomplishment (anyone can destroy an enemy's social network, right?) but I am encouraging all victims of online harassment to stand-up against their bullies and defend their rights to safe and responsible Internet usage.

Allow me to enjoy my victory, for they are few and far between. My hands are behind my head. My feet are on the table. My face is smiling smugly at my triumph. Somewhere in Argentina (yes, my tormentor is somewhere in Argentina), a vindictive and idiotic boy is wondering what happened to his Facebook account. This must be how Lara Croft felt in the Tomb Raider movie.

The Information Age has surely spawned a culture of angry and rude people. Have we become a generation of loudmouths yapping at everything and everyone. This is going into my philosophy of Subjectivism: the desire people have to become the subject of the world by speaking before thinking, by forgetting about the implications of their words, by abandoning empathy. My friends, kind readers, let's strive to improve this world we live on...even if that means punishing those that need to be stopped.

Sue Sylvester Rocks!

Last week, America Fererra, aka Ugly Betty, ended the episode grooving solo to "Dancing With Myself" by Billy Idol.
This week, Kevin McHale, who plays Arty the Cripple on Glee, starts off the show doing wheelies to the same tune. Personally, I'd rather dance with someone else. Horizontally...gig-giddy gig-giddy. But I digress. This episode is definitely better than the last.

Here's few more things you missed:

1. Kurt's dad is from the Time-Warner commercials
2. Tina, the Asian girl, doesn't really have a stutter and nobody really cares
3. Black guy is missing from Glee, bringing down the minority rate 13.7%
4. Asian guy is still the ONLY background character with no speaking lines
5. Puck put weed in cupcakes as a side note
6. Mr. Schueler was able to round up enough wheelchairs for every Glee Club member but had to have a bake sale to raise funds for Arty the Cripple
7. Sue Sylvester has a sister with Down Syndrome and is teaching another retard to jumprope

Hurray Fox! You just lost an Emmy. But still, Glee remains entertaining, and though the jokes are running dry, the music and actors are pulling the show through.

What About Betty?

I was thoroughly disappointed with two of my favorite shows recently. The first of them is the semi-sarcastic High School Musical parody 'Glee,' the other is the hyper-inflated dramedy 'Ugly Betty.'

Glee needs to stop pimping out Mr. Schueler like a Justin Timberlake wannabe pop star with badly recorded 80's lipsynching and get back to the kids. Lea Michele's skirts keep getting higher and musical numbers are starting to scream for attention.

Ugly Betty just has too much going on, I doubt it could attract and maintain new viewers. The show is turning into the final stages of Jinga, where it's only a matter of time until the tower of blocks crumbles down upon itself against the weight of plot twists and character exaggerations. Michael Urie's eyes were in constant peeled back form; apparently, not blinking is his thing. Every new character has got some scheme going on: Daniel's new assistant, Wilhelmina's daughter, Judith Light. And poor Betty and her Latino familia is left on the sidelines.

I normally don't watch too much tv, but I've conformed a little. So sue me.

The Clerk's Agenda

Note to self:

1.Grease monkeys
2.Rub elbows
3.Increase job performance
4.Research libertarianism (Ron Paul, perhaps)
5.Socialize
6.Prioritize
7.Declutter
8.Help deserving coworkers

Lollapalooza 2009: The World's Best Dancer!

Serious talent? Serious something...

Chapter 4: The Coldest Shoulder

“Where the hell is she? We’ve been waiting for like, half an hour.”
“Relax, dude. She’ll be here in a second.”
“Hey, Rip. Check it out.”
“What? Oh, that guy? Wasn’t he at Coffee Planet yesterday?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You like him? He’s kind of old.”
“He’s not that old. He’s got to be like, what? Twenty-nine? Thirty?”
“At least.”
“Whatever. I’m gonna’ go talk to this guy while you wait for your mistress.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“See ya’.”
Lee walked off towards the man ordering coffee at a kiosk on the ground floor of W&C, Inc. headquarters, leaving Ripley alone, sitting at the foot of the cubic fountain. Ripley watched his friend strike up a conversation with ease. Both Lee and the man were flirtatiously smiling, Lee constantly put a hand to his hair as if swiping invisible strands from his forehead. After a few minutes, the older man whipped out a cell phone from his pockets and took down what Ripley could only assume was Lee’s number. Lee did not reciprocate; he only rubbed the man’s shoulder graciously as he walked away and sat back down next to Ripley. The man walked towards the elevator with his coffee, turning his head around halfway through the lobby to smile at Lee. Lee flickered his fingers at the man who disappeared around the corner.
“His name’s Eddy, he works in accounting and he’s seen Bridget around before. He’s from Atlanta, Georgia, single and likes to hike.”
“Damn, Lee.”
“What can I say? I know what men want.”
“You didn’t get his number?”
“Oh, Ripley. He can call me. And trust me, he will.”
“Slut.”
“Virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin, dude.”
“Oral sex doesn’t count.”
Ripley stayed silent, not wanting to be tricked into revealing more about his sex life to Lee, who, Ripley suspected, enjoyed the details. As much as he liked Lee, Ripley would not give him his kicks and refused to divulge more than what he was comfortable with. Ripley decided to turn to tables on his meddling friend and pry into Lee’s sex life for once. Lee, however, did not seem to care, almost reveled in his sexuality’s attention.
“I thought you only loved one guy?”
“I did. But I’ve slept with others.”
“Older dudes?”
“Sometimes. Mostly just straight guys.”
“Right…”
“Honestly, you’d be surprised how many guys out there are bi-curious or experimental or closeted. Especially in college.”
Ripley was glad he spotted Bridget at this moment. He was starting to regret questioning Lee about his sexual history. Bridget emerged from the glassy halls with a cocky swagger, her hips shuffling from side to side. She smiled at Ripley, pulling back her dark hair behind her left ear.
Bridge reached the boys sitting on the fountain, placed a hand on her prominent hip. Ripley looked up at her and noticed how the sunlight illuminated the waves in her inky hair.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “I believe I just got a promotion.”

Excerpt from Chapter 3: The Coldest Shoulder

Howard Jacob Tully’s soul already felt kinder in his first-class seat on Delta airlines. This was a common experience he felt on his westbound business trips, as if he were reliving Manifest Destiny in modern accommodations. People on the West Coast were generally nicer, he felt, unlike the live-to-work colleagues he faced on a daily basis back east. Cares were taken lightly and life was filled with wonder and gratitude, an observation he could not help but notice; Tully couldn’t wait to interact with the people who lived cheerful existences in remote, nature-driven communities. Despite his status in the big cities, Tully had much to learn about fulfillment and peace of mind.

Tully experimented with his identity on his trip to Oregon. Instead of wearing his usual three-piece suit, Tully decided to look middle-class by sporting a nondescript polo and a pair of khaki shorts he found at Goodwill. He left his white-gold Breguet wristwatch from the Marine collection at home and adorned his left wrist with a Casio brand digital watch he got at a drug store. He missed his Breguet, he admitted, but Tully did not want to flaunt his success today. If anyone asked the purpose of his visit, Tully would say he was visiting his mother (long since deceased) and lucked upon a sweepstake for an upgrade to first-class. But to his dismay, Tully was alone in the cabin and could not practice his new persona with strangers. Even the flight attendants avoided conversation with him, as if they knew his secret identity and refused to humor his aging wish to blend in with lay people.

He’s going through a late mid-life crisis, his acquaintances would say behind his back. He’s getting too soft for marketing, he would catch around the corner of the office. With a few phone calls, Tully managed to snuff out these dissenters, but he did not feel that sense of accomplishment he once had earlier in his career when he crushed the competition or those that got in his way. They were right, he admitted, right and now unemployed. Guilt rushed over him like an overdue emotion, and he promised to pursue a meaningful life when he left the health insurance industry with a quarter of a century of experience and a sizeable amount of swealth under his belt.

But the businessman inside him was still alive and kicking. An early retirement at the age of fifty did not appeal to Howard J. Tully’s aptitude for victory so he had his people research an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company before his departure. A wise and respectable associate of his had recommended Wabash & Creeley, Inc., located in an unmapped region in the Northwest. She advised him of the opportunity in a handwritten letter sealed with wax days after he divulged to her his desire to change his life’s direction. The effort she put into sending such an elegant recommendation was worth an investigation, and Tully soon found the inquiry to be worthwhile. The findings about the company and its location was everything Tully desired: a historic community placated by a serene environment, a developing business that needed his learned leadership, but more importantly, Elpine Heights gave him an outlet for his real passion to become a beloved writer. Somewhere in the report was a note that read, “Elpine Heights is known to harbor some of the greatest minds in the literary world for its refuge from the overwhelming modern lifestyle.” Immediately, he found the contacts to W&C, Inc., faxed a flawless cover letter and resume, and, after finding a pleasant green folder, mailed a copy of his short story with a wishful note of his dreams to be published. Within a few days, the move was underway. After a few personal phone calls with a young woman from the Development Department who actually read his tale—she gave some advice to add dancing wildlife to his story—Tully decisively bought a ticket to Oregon, ready to live a deeper life.

Family Dinners

Eight Filipinos
And my sister's friend
At a dim sum pace in
Chinatown.

Belly full of wrapped seafood
Sizzling platters
Of peppered sirloin steak
Honey walnut shrimp
And the list goes on.

Let's keep it going
Let's eat all night
At the dim sum place in
Chinatown.

Naked Man Tased at Music Festival

Naked Wizard Tased By Reality from Tracy Anderson on Vimeo.

We were born naked, and so we are tasered naked. Would any disagree with me when I say Fuck the Police?

On the Set of Leverage

I made my national television debut with the TNT series Leverage, staring Timothy Hutton from the 1980's film Ordinary People. Here's the skinny on the exciting life as an extra, or as I like to call it, background artist.

Hollywood in Portland. Cones stamped LA to block off traffic. Directors with bullhorns. It was quite a Wednesday morning. I was shuttled to the set on SW Burnside and Broadway and ate some Hollywood catering: looks good, tastes generic. The crew shuffled us to a building on Oak St. where wardrobe approved our attire. There were about 30 of us altogether and we were to be in the background of a car crash and an office setting, which meant two different outfits. I wore a stylish yet subtle gray, military style jacket from KZO, jeans and trainers which got the seal of approval. Look out of the Asian guy with parted hair, thick glasses and a laptop over his shoulder.

It was cold on the street at 8:30 in the morning. There was an upside-down car in the middle of the street and traffic heading south from Burnside was blocked off. We had cops, cameras and bright ass stage lights.

The crew set fire and smoke to the upturned Cadillac. The first scene had Mr. Hutton running to the car while me and a few other background guys crossed the street behind him wondering what the fuck just happened?

Two other actors were on set: the driver of the Cadillac, a middle-aged man in a suit with make-up to make him look battered and bruised from the crash, and the passenger, a young, cute girl in a schoolgirl uniform: short skirt, high socks, etc. Hutton pulled her from the car and the cameras focused tightly on the rescue.

Next event had Hutton carry the girl from the car to the street corner. I was to run from the scene of the accident when he set her down on the sidewalk. Look for the back of my head on TV!

A bum character stole a briefcase from the car before Hutton could rescue the driver. "Hey! Hey!" I heard him scream.

One of the funniest things about filming is when the assistant directors simulate crashes and explosions on their bullhorns. The car was suppose to blow up and the AD shouted "BOOM!" as the special effects people made the lights and wind to imitate the actual explosion.

Next scene was the part where the Cadillac swerved through the streets and crashed into a truck before flipping over. This was one of the funner scenes because a good two blocks or so were used for the entire take. The Cadillac was suppose to be out of control and the actor driving was really good at almost hitting shit. Random people kept walking on the set without realizing who and who wasn't an extra. It felt good and elitist having the AD's shoo away the non-background pedestrians.

When it was time to blow up the car, the background people had to go back to the holding room for some reason. I don't think anyone got to see the explosion. We heard the boom from the office and there was a shared sense of disappointment between us from missing the pyrotechnics. I'm sure the police evacuated the general public from the explosion. They better have. If I don't get to see a car blow up, no one should!

The filming took twelve and half hours! I was exhausted and smelly by then. The office scenes wasn't too exciting and didn't take very long. I was amazed at how the crew was able to change and alter a scene with decorations or lighting.

Overall I had a good experience and got paid a good deal, especially for the over-over-time. Now I just need to start on working on speaking roles and I'll be on my way up to stardom. If anyone knows of a role for a young, Filipino boy, let me know!

Hot For Words Youtube starlet, Marina, makes an appearance on Fox Noise. O'Reilly seemed upset because he couldn't shout over anyone but lord knows he tried. Hot For Words is one of my favorite channels on youtube. Go etymology! As for online rudeness, I must admit that I am not innocent on this front. However, most of my web attitude is in response to some other asshole's comments. I'm a good boy, I am.

The Internet and television have already merged.

Will You Marry Me and Take Away Hetersexual Freedom?

No logic was found in the homophobic gas that belched out of the mouth of Maggie Gallagher, president of the National Organization of Marriage. When I get married, the first thing I'm going to do is destroy heterosexual marriages with my subversive, anti-Christian, union of hedonism and sodomy. Ms. Gallagher needs to wake up to the 21st Century or move back to the Middle Ages.

Please submit all wedding proposals in the comments below.

Soft Parents, Spoiled Brats

I'm sitting in a cafe writing the next installment of my murder mystery novel and there's a little boy whining his ass off on his mother's lap a few feet away from me. The kid must be about seven and his mother is cradling him in her arms like she's about to breastfeed him at any moment. How old must a child be to teach him or her to stop whining? There are two little girls of about the same age sitting across from the kid but the girls aren't bitching about everything. Is this the future of the American male? I bet my bottom dollar that the mother just had a divorce, judging by how she shelters her babe like she's hiding from Nazis in a house attic. I don't ascribe to the belief that a lack of a male role model turns kids gay, but giving in to a boy's every whim and catering to him hand and foot definitely puts the kid in line to be a mommas boy.

What are the statistics? 50% of marriages end in the first six months, right. Talk about abuse of heterosexual rights. Breeders getting hitched willy-nilly and reproducing offspring in broken homes while gays and lesbians are marching in the street for the same rights to raise fucked up kids. Not my kids. Whether I adopt, father or steal a child, I know I'd be a good dad. None of this gushy whimpering sweet child of mine bullshit that psychologist tell white people their kids need. Minorities don't give a shit. Kids don't know right from wrong but they will with good parenting. I'm not talking about whaling on your kids when you get home from work to relieve some stress, that's just fucked up . I'm talking about lickins', whoopins', all those terms that aren't found in most modern dictionaries when it comes to disciplining a child. I was spanked as a kid and I turned out fine. Don't even go there.

Portland, Honolulu, Los Angeles, Seattle

I'm counting down the dreary days in Bridgetown, tying up loose ends and spending time with close ones. The economy in Portland is not very big: few jobs and tons of unemployed, educated young folk. My work experience and Bachelor's degree will go farther in Honolulu where I'll be able to pay off my credit card debts and save up for a car.

I also applied for a paid internship in LA for the summer which will look good on my resume. I'll be able to see my best friend Reyn and do the LA thing, whatever that is.

From LA, I will either go straight to Seattle for graduate school (if I get accepted) or go back to Hawaii and then go to Seattle. Either way, this kid is heading for the world!

My Dearest Only Sister

I had a wonderful dinner tonight, although I only drank a Naked Juice. You are maturing into such a beautiful, young lady and I know that any path you choose will be one of success. I love you and wish you the best. Now, if you excuse me. I have to write a thank you letter to my hairstylist. That's right, my hairstylist.

Love,

Julius

Murder at the River City Rave

I'm on the third chapter of my murder mystery novel. It's about a sexually ambiguous, half-Japanese former snitch named Fuller Clark in a city based on Portland, OR. It's loads of fun.

Portland is too small of a town. From my place to Powells downtown I met four guys I knew, and no, I did not sleep with any of them, thank you.

I'm a little under the weather and everyone is giving me drugs. My roommate gave me these two pills what may have been ibuprofen or muscle relaxer, my friend Katie gave me grapefruit extract and orange juice, and my other friend Shawn gave me four tiny homeopathic pills that I held under my tongue until the pills dissolved into a tiny, thick foam and disappeared. At least I knew my medicine people. So far, still coughing.

One of Shawn's friends was reading a graphic novel that had cyborg, Nazi gorillas and I posited a movie out of it.

"Angelica Houston versus cyborg, Nazi gorillas with Jack Black as Hitler."

Who wouldn't see that movie? Come one!

I saw I Love You, Man this weekend. Loved it. Necessary for men in this day and age. Paul Rudd gave another excellent performance of a nice yuppie. I'm waiting for his gay role, if he hasn't already played the part in another movie. That, or serial killer.

I'm Going Back to Honolulu

Family troubles, what can I say?

I Believe In President Obama

According to conservatives, having faith in the President I voted for means I'm a fool. Well fuck them. The system is finally working for me, a regular lower-class citizen, instead of the corporate oligarchs that run the Washington system. President Obama is not a socialist. He's a populist. He is giving the American people a fighting chance to survive these times of economic uncertainty by not catering to the big businesses or lobbyists. The working class, the middle class, the people who voted for him are finally getting somewhere. I myself have seen some stimulus.

Glen Beck Has Two Brain Cells

"Kay, Rob. Yes, but...I mean, look, I-I-I'm just going to be straight with ya, American, this is not something I'm proud of but uh, uh I did inhale. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I did everything you could possibly do...I wasn't really...I mean there's like one br...actually two brain cells up in my head...one's justs going breath, dummy, breath and the other one is just scattering around trying to figure everything out. You can't tell me that marijuana is good for your health."

Sean Penn and Dustin Lance Black Win!

Thank the academy that gay rights won last night. I think I'm in love with Dustin Lance Black, Oscar-winning writer of Milk. I at least have a new hero.

And Sean Penn. Way to be aloof about winning.

So the gay agenda advances... What does this all mean?

Getting To Know You

I've been seeing a boy lately and I'm really getting to like him. It's like I'm in high school again. And just like my teenage years, I get all stupid and head-over-heels thinking about him. It's endearing and sentimental but I am only human. I'm trying my best to see as much of him without becoming an annoyance and I'm incredibly glad that Ryan shares my affection. He constantly thinks he's acting like a dork in front of me when in reality I just happen to be adroit at hiding my giddiness. But honestly, I don't hide it that well.

Ryan is a ginger, lean build, just short of six feet, and does manual labor. He has a personality as attractive as his face and he likes my smile. Right now, I'm just getting to know him and I'm very carefree about it. I'm not going to worry about dating or starting a relationship or becoming boyfriends--no. We're still getting to know each other and that's it.

The Internal Revenue Service of Portland, OR

Today I took a trip to the IRS in downtown Portland in order to get information about my Annual Gross Income for 2007 to complete my 2008 tax returns. You have to go through a metal detector, but don't worry, I was allowed to keep my shoes on.

There's a sticker of Obama on my laptop, and, just like when I go through security at the airport, I put my computer in a separate container. A man behind me noticed the sticker.

The guy said: "You got a picture of the anointed one there."

Yup. Hallelujah.

I wait in line at the center, looking around at the building. It's sterile and stale. I swear, federal buildings need some serious feng shui. The cubicles were completely enclosed, just rows and rows of gray little boxes with numbers on them, probably stuffed with government workers auditing citizens one person at a time.

And get this. When I get my AGI for 2007, the agent looks at my information and says: "I don't believe."

He didn't believe I made as little money as I did that year. Thank God the bastard wasn't doing my taxes.

In the end, my tax return got approved and I'll be getting my refund and the end of the month. I wish I could say something like, then I lived happily ever after. But that would be presumptive of me.

More Ugh!

I'm taking this period of unemployment as a time for me to simplify my life and wait for good things to come. Yes, I am still "diligently looking for employment" (as required for my deferment for student loans and the unemployment benefits that I don't qualify for), but in my down time, which is like, all my time, I am taking my positive energy and creating beautiful things.

One of those things is dance. I just came back from a hip-hop class at the gym and I feel pumped. I'm trying to put more 'Ugh!' in my life, Julia Stiles style. You know, ugh! in my attitude. Ugh! in my smile. Ugh! in my game. All I need now is a crew and I'll be set.

For those of you's out there (that's right, I said you's) who are also down and shit out of luck, I suggest to to put a little ugh! in your life too. If you're unemployed, so are millions of Americans out there, and the numbers won't be improving anytime soon so ugh! to the economy. If you're lonely, well love yourself because ugh! you are beautiful. And if you can't dance, then ugh! when you walk. Straight to the unemployment office.

Graduate Record Exam

I took the GRE's this morning and boy am I shook up. I had to ride the bus for a good hour to get there, passing by my ex's neighborhood in Parkrose. It was literally a trip down memory lane, if memory lane is a suburban deadzone without any culture, and I did get a little heartache as I passed the street where he used to live. Major flashbacks, man.

When you register for the GRE's, they give you a non-Mac compatible practice CD. If you are a mac-user, I recommend finding a PC to practice on because I might have bombed my exam this morning.

Moving

In this society we have a trillion ways of communicating with people--text messages, phone calls, emails, facebook, myspace, twitter, skype, IM--but once you pay a live, personal visit to someone's house, the way our ancestors did in generation's past, you get an unexpected quizzical look from the other. Which was my case last night. I payed a visit to a neighbor of mine who I had a thing with a couple of months ago just to say hello. I don't have his number so I decided to ring his doorbell and see what's up. Even though I hadn't seen him since Election Night, I haven't been able to get him out of my head since then. Two months later I decide to give him a postcard with my number on it.

Doug, let's call him to protect the identity of the innocent, answered the door shirtless. I was a bit awestruck as he rubbed his arm.

"Hey, Doug," I said. He was looking a lot more muscular than the last time I saw him, and I must have had a puppy dog look on my stupid face. "I thought I'd just drop by to say hello."

"Do you want to come in?" he asked.

I enter his apartment to find another guy on his couch. I'm not going to lie, I felt a bit jealous at this point, not knowing if I had interrupted an encounter between the two young men. Doug said he was just cleaning up, but does that require you to be half naked. I brushed it off and offered to get high with the two. The second person, Fred, let's call him, was a really cool guy. I'm not going to lie, I did contemplate or hope for a threesome but instead we just watched Planet B-Boy on Netflix. Good movie, very international.

Doug went out to get a cigarette and I followed in order to get a word with him.

I bummed a cigarette from Doug and we made small chit-chat for a bit. I asked him how he was doing.

"Pretty bad," Doug said. "I haven't been getting as many hours at work lately so I quit. I'm moving in with my dad next week actually."

My heart sank. I tried not to show it because I barely know the guy and we only messed around on a drunken night that seemed like centuries ago.

"That sucks," I said.

"Yeah."

"Where are you going?"

"About three-fifths of the way to Astoria off of I-5."

"Whoa."

I didn't want to linger on this fact for too long.

"What were you doing for work?" I asked.

"I'm a mover. I went around with a crew moving pianos around." Doug didn't sound that enthused about his job. "Making dreams come true every day." I love his sense of humor.

"Wow. That's pretty hot."

"Yeah. What do you do."

I told him about my day job in Beaverton for a start-up and about my freelance writing.

"I just had my first story in The Oregonian," I boasted. "They still haven't payed me yet."

"Bastards," we both say at the same time and laugh.

I take out the postcard that was in my coat pocket and hand it over to him. My roommate bought it from a girl who sells them around the bars. I handed it over to him politely. He read the type-written text in the dimly lit parking lot.

Dear Doug

Just because I can't remember your name
doesn't mean I don't
want to have sex with you again.

From Julius

555.555.5555

Doug laughed and I felt the little bit of tension between us dissipate in his smile.

"Is this why you came over?" he asked.

"Yeah," I say.

Yes, I know I barely know the guy. I'm not even sure where his sexuality preference lies He isn't a full-on gay or if he is, he's definitely not a queen. Doug is my age, has a Bachelor's degree and a wicked sense of humor that has always caught me off guard. In the two months since our brief intimacy, I have had a slew of sexual encounters with boys and men that some would call promiscuous. Doug, however, was a person that I didn't want to fall into that list of males that I've fooled around with and forgot like another flavor of the week. In a small city like Portland, such a list eventually becomes an advertisement for your reputation in the tight-knit gay community. Doug was not part of this scene which I often immerse myself into. And now, I had revealed my emotions in a snarky postcard and can only leave it at that.

"I know we didn't really have sex and I still remember your name...," I began.

"But it's the thought that counts," he finished.

Doug was honest and told me that he had to get packing. He said that I was a distraction, which I can't disagree with. I tend to deconstruct reality by keeping it real. Every time I looked into his eyes I knew that he could read my mind. I could tell that I was infatuated with him. That I thought he was extremely cute. That I wanted to feel his touch one more time before he left.

I kept giggling and turning away like a stupid high school girl.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

He leaned over and I felt his lips caress my mouth. It was a gentle and soft kiss, almost feminine yet I knew that there was a passion hidden for utility's sake. I returned his kiss, a longer, more sensual one that expressed a desire for more.

He broke away to continue packing.

"Go on now, you." he said.

I went on. I walked home in silence, flustered, trying to reason my emotions into something that made sense, something that wouldn't hurt me in the long run, something that I could keep as a moment of my life that I could learn from, cultivate, cherish.

I can't do anything about it now. This is one of those times where idleness isn't such a bad thing. I've exhausted my energy on this one possibility of love, and there's a high possibility that nothing will come out of it other than a memory for me to return to when times are rough. I'm fine with that. I've appreciated someone and got a kiss in return. If I can't be satisfied with the outcome then I have no right pursuing my heart.

And that was my evening. My bittersweet, slightly taciturn evening.

I Speak of Everything and Nothing At All

So I’m walking the dog I don’t have
Through the neighborhood of moss covered cobblestones
Drooping branches that want to tickle the pavement
Soft hills hiding my destination and
My mind’s all worked up
Thinking about how socioeconomic conditions
Are destroying the human experience
Economy and equality festering in America's head
And at every step in the Gucci boots I don’t own
Hitting the damp gray sidewalk
I wonder
What’s a dreamer like me doing in a world like this?

This as in Southeast Portland
Reed County or Hipster Nation 2009
Where Beat Poet Allen Ginsbergs read “Howl” at that hippie
College back in the day when The Beatles
Ruled the world and marijuana was mainstream
Where the greatest minds of my generation drink coffee
And drag themselves through the Caucasian streets
Looking for a trendy fix of fame or notoriety
And I ask myself
What’s a poet like me doing here?

Here in the Versace threads I'm not wearing
Here in a gentrified area that wants to hide in second hand clothes
Get high from tattoo ink or trip on cafe art
Without the shoulder to shoulder hustle of dense population
Without an unchecked urban sprawl expanding city limits
Leaving her to grow like a dream of sustainability
Without a clue to real multicultural zest
A whitewashed counterculture at every corner waiting for diversity
And I enter Safeway to buy a newspaper so I can get
Cash back in an increment within my budget
So I can do my laundry at some point in the near future
So I can experience unrequited love again in clean sheets
When what do I see on the cover of the Oregonian
But an airplane afloat in the Hudson River with passengers
Just chillin’ on the wing
And I exclaim to myself
What an experience!

So I head to downtown for a social visit in the Lamborghini I don’t drive
Hoping that some excitement will happen on the bus
Like in Speed where I'll have to take control of the vehicle filled with
Scarfed commuters with dry lips and fingerless gloves
Puffy jackets and hats of all shapes and sizes
Forgetting about the sociology of my life and submitting
To the naturalism of my surrounding
And I ponder to myself
What else would I be doing?

So I’m hugging Gabe goodbye after two cups of coffee and a joint at the Waterfront
And we had just talked about culture and how McDonald’s is now serving lattes
Marketing stupidity in commercials during Jeopardy
Fattening the world with its golden arches and McHeartattacks
And I want to remain in the embrace of his strong arms until time stops
Settle my nose into the nape of his neck and breath in his masculinity
And exhale my bliss into the atmosphere of longing
And his hand brushes down my shoulder as we part ways
He on the Yellow Line heading north
Me on the a bus to traverse the Willamette River heading east
And I feel at ease with our gentle farewell
Though I want to take him to the penthouse I don’t live in
I want to caress his cheek with the back of my hand
But I stop and I ask myself
What will he do for me
Besides capture my attention?

So I’m reading Toni Morrison on the way home from creating this memory
Reading about the dehumanization of Negroes through poverty
About a little black girl tearing apart a white baby doll
Wanting instead a large bowl of lilacs placed on her lap
While she listens to her father play the violin for Christmas
And I realize that I’m part of Oprah’s Book Club
Because Oprah became a concept all of a sudden
And I get a flashback of my freshman year in college when
An English professor of mine told me how Oprah will put her stamp
On Toni Morrison and then give away cars for her birthday
Next episode turning her more into a device rather than an actual person
When what do I see on the sidewalk approach me but a dog in a Burberry scarf
And I say between my chuckles
What the fuck?

I meditate on class differences for a moment only to burst out in laughter
Because I just said hello to a little dog in a Burberry scarf completely ignoring the owner
A man who spoiled an animal that eats its own shit
And I think
What a wonderful moment

Nothing can replace this.

So I’m drinking a real glass of shiraz at night
More real than the technology which has given humans a plethora of
Ways to communicate but has antiquated an actual house visit
More real than any of my aspirations that bubble and boil with every moment I live
More real than my poetry that keeps my sanity
Or other people's poetry that I either abhor or want to claim as my own
And I tell the world
What a way to keep me guessing.

McTeague, Katelynn and Me

I wonder what McTeague will do with the money he stole from Trina. To be honest, I want a better paying job before I finish the book.

Why can't I be rollin' down the street, smokin' indooh, sippin on gin and juice? How about a White Russian instead?

I went to Blow Pony last night and wish I stayed there longer. That's what you get when you go out with a cute, bisexual martial artist who wants to get laid. What is her pronoun? Female all the way. I swear the female sex is a whole 'nother universe.

Which leads me to the Real World: Katelynn. You've traversed the male-female universes like a transsexual astronaut. Good for you.

I wonder if there was ever a religion that worshiped a transsexual God. Hmm... sounds like a short story to me.

Escapering

I am a
chained
laborer
buildering pyramids
for great pharaoh

indentured to his will
I must obey
comply
my day
a blink
to the all-seeing
eye

watchering
my calloused hands
constructering
history
his honor
my duty

good-bye
good-bye
god-king

I'm leapering
out of this shithole.

My Very First Blogspot

Well this is my very first blogspot.com blog and I thought it'd be a bigger moment than what I expected but it turns out that my online writing is just a continuum of free thought that travels through various mediums. From the early xanga blogs to the myspace corporately controlled arena to the facebook network of tagged photos and "notes." Now this. Blogspot.

At least it is a proper blog. Myspace is just a way to connect to your friends who didn't join the mainstream collegestudentfueled Facebook extravaganza that makes stalking look like child's play. Blogspot will hopefully allow me a chance to write short, non-twittering writings, life exposing stories.

And here's a story for you: I'm planning my escape from Portland, OR. That's all I got to say for that.

Currently I am reading McTeague by Frank Norris. It is very entertaining and wholesome without the aridity of British Victorian Literature. Nothing will ever replace a good book in my opinion. No internet wonder or sensation can compare to the ink and paper.

People don't read. That's one of Portland's redeeming quality: it is very literate. It's almost too literate if that's at all possible.

I just sent in my graduate school application for a Master's degree in Library and Information Science. I'm curling my toes in anticipation.

I hope everyone a Happy New Year. Feel free to comment or whatever it is blogspotters like to do.