Not California.

The storm drains, hovering near the bottom of the list of civil priorities, hadn’t been cleaned for months. At the end of each block they remained ignorantly dry, their mouths clogged with trash that lodged there in the first few hours of rain. In front of our building the grass verge was flowing as quickly as the gutter, a swampy, swirling mess of muddy water, punctuated only by bedraggled palms and small archipelagos of dog shit.

By the third morning, the rain let up enough that the news choppers finally started flying again, broadcasting pictures of hillsides deposited on freeways, houses and all. One backyard had somehow remained perfectly intact as it slid downhill, and now leaned casually, almost vertically, against an onramp. The sky blue tiles on the bottom of the pool stood out against the destruction all around, cupping a small puddle of murky water in the lowest corner.

That afternoon, the rain stopped for about five minutes. When it started back up, it brought the first clap of thunder. The power went out. Sitting alone in the near dark nothing made any more sense that anything else, so I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed. When I woke up, it was still pitch black, but the alarm clock was steadily blinking 12:00. I flipped the TV back on, squinting as the bright blue screen lit up the dark room. Every channel carried the same state seal and scrolling message: evacuations, blackouts, flooding, closures, looting.

I turned the TV off and lay back again. Fuck it, I said out loud. I pulled up the blanket and closed my eyes.

Ratios.

It is not about the big thing, or the little things. It is really just about the relationship between them. It is all about ratios.

This was going to start as another "fuck all of this bullshit, I am out," but now I fear it will be a bit more reflective. Sure, I could rant about my bullshit neighborhood, full of people who leave their dog's shits on the sidewalk, Scientologists, and parking that, frankly, sucks my ass. I could rant about my bullshit car, which is a slowly dying by degrees, no thanks to the vandals, thieves and assholes who live in this city. And I could rant about how I will never be able to afford to replace it with one that has all the modern amenities, like AC and a working lock. I could rant about my bullshit tiny, over cluttered apartment and how, beyond having no flat surfaces to be found, is impossible to even turn around in with a fucking avalanche of shit coming down around your ears. But I won't. Anyway, it would mostly be working up to ranting about how the odds of gaining employment with my bullshit skill set are about as good as otherwise ameliorating anything else with my bullshit mindset. But, since this shitstorm is all of my own doing, I can't really lay that on you.

And so I reflect.

Turns out, that in a few short seconds, I can trace the putrid streak of bullshit back upstream to January 8th, 2006. In one night I managed to not only end up in jail but also to pause long enough to lay a steaming pile of failure on pretty much everything else. And now, in one way or another, I am doing exactly what I've been doing for the last five years: trying to dig myself out of my own shit.

Well, say I, fuck that.

Take all of those little things, the petty, the relentless, the inescapable, the insurmountable, the mundane, the gnawing, the poisoning bullshit and weigh it against the big picture. It is all about ratios. And it takes a whole lot more than five years of borderline depression, stress, doubt, and self-loathing to outweigh feeling at home, feeling satisfied, feeling loved, and feeling, despite everything, generally OK. It is all about ratios.

So, thanks a bundle 2010. You tried your very best to shit in my cereal. And sure, I did eat a few bites from the top before I noticed, but the rest of the bowl was fine, even tasty. It is all about ratios, right?

And so, I would like to quit complaining for one fucking second at the end of the year and say thanks to you all--the number one lady, my friends, my family, blood-related and otherwise-- because I am still here to happily extend my central digit to 2010, and even smile as we head for 2011 with high hopes.

Can we have one last chance?

Happy New Year.

Literated and Obliterated #2:Everything Matters by Ron Currie Jr.

I read most of this book on a twelve hour flight. Thankfully, it was an international flight and the lukewarm pilsners were easy to come by. However, if you are going to undertake this book at home, you have more options. I will warn you that the protagonist is a drunk. I will also warn you that his drink of choice is Southern Comfort. Straight. To really do this book justice, I would have to say that you just need to buy a handle of SoCo when you pick up the paperback and store them together. Whenever you sit down to read, just tug on the bottle. If done correctly, the last swig should line up nicely with the last page.

But...



I fucking hate Southern Comfort, and I think too highly of most of you to suggest that you subject yourself to such inhumane literary libations. So let's consider your other options shall we? You could just drink whatever you have on hand, so you can really focus on the book (which is really very good), without worrying about a special trip to the store. Or you could really over do it and try to be as varied and off the wall cracked as the story. I recommend the later; let your palate be as surprised as your brain by each new development. Go to your local liquor mart . Fork over $20. Ask for as many assorted mini bottles as you can get for $20. Put them all in a paper bag and draw them randomly, as needed. Enjoy the book and the grab bag, and be sure to savor all of it, since everything really does matter. At least I think it does...

Hey guy...

Hey guy, yeah, you. Guy. You Koreatown shitfuck tweaker asshole who decided that it would be a good idea to break into my car. Yeah, you. Nice work, really well done. Rather than just break the window, ruin my stereo and then sleep in my car like your average chemically dependent halfwit, you thought (in your desert born bathtub speed three day genius kind of way) that you could do me a favor by just picking the lock and then closing up when you were done. I appreciate the consideration, except that what passed for your key was probably a flat screw driver, or (I really hope) what meth has left of your front teeth. Either way, you, guy...guy who slept in the cold because you couldn't get in. Yeah, you. I really love not being able to enter what's left of my piece of shit car through the driver's door. The mangled lock really made me happy to come home to this polished turd of a city. Tony V. should give you a goddamn medal. Thanks, guy, thanks a bunch. And guy? Yeah, hey, guy? Fuck you.

If only I had more knuckles on each hand.

I have never been huge on reductive philosophies, being a guy who comfortably dwells in the grey area almost all of the time. However, I am open minded. And, as such, I like to think that I am willing to admit it when I come across a good idea. I don't go in for good vs bad, black vs white, etc but, if I had to pick one dichotomy to reduce my existence to, it came up today:

Nature vs Culture.

This is of course contingent on how you define both Nature and Culture. But, so long as each of us defines them consistently, and truthfully, to ourselves, the reduction will still work for each of us. Allow, for the moment, that we are each capably of this, and give it some thought.

Obviously, this ties in with a whole metric assload of outstanding issues (nature vs nurture, god vs science, greenpeace vs BP, etc) but I think I would argue that this very open ended status is what makes Nature vs Culture the most compelling reduction I have stumbled on for a while. It acknowledges the broad complexity of both sides of the equation and does little to reduce either one any further than needed. For a guy who thinks philosophy is the major for people who can't turn off their cerebral shitstorm enough to slack off and get a normal, useless, expensive liberal arts degree, I am pretty stoked on spending the next few days looking at the world through this new lense and trying it out.

I've spent the day applying it to my previously mentioned foody situation, as suggested in The Omnivore's Dilemma; while it does not offer any weight to either side, it is the perfect way to break down the constituent issues of the larger argument. At first pass, it fit my views of religion too, albeit with the caveat that I buy into "science". Getting confused? Exactly. The perfect thing about Nature vs. Culture is that imposing this prism DOES NOT impose an implied judgment on either side of the issue, but rather using its broad reduction only to contextualize the factors.

Think on it, when you are done not worrying about anything at all. Then get it tattooed.

-OSB

Time flies when you are doing sweet fuck all.

So it turns out that, while I was busy not writing blog posts and doing other stuff, a whole year went by. Last October I started this shit to see what it would be like, and I guess it ain't so bad. Granted, I post rarely, rarely write about anything relevant and probably swear too much for most audiences in most red states. But, either way, here am I is, pecking away at the same old POS mac laptop with the same two fingers on each hand. Though this fall finds me significantly less employed, I should add that this development has been for the best (I think, I hope...)

So, whether or not you are in the same place (mentally, geographically, spiritually, literally, etc) as you were last October, thanks for reading all of the hot gas horseshit that I have managed to drum up. I would promise to do better as we go forward, but who knows. Maybe I'll get some ambition someday and find something actually worthwhile to write about. Or, god forbid, I might get a job and actually not have time to blast the cybercloud with my hourly mysanthropies. Who knows.

What I can say is that I will probably keep making some beer, and drinking some other folks' beer, while listening to obscure, mediocre music no one cares about. You might hear about it. And if I don't stay the course to end up in the same exact fucking spot next October, you might hear about that too. I'll worry about me, you all worry about... well, whatever it is you feel like you aught to. Or fuck it, one up me and don't worry at all. I hear that is really the way to go. Maybe you can try it and get back to me? I'll be right here...

Just don't forget to vote next week, or I will send Mike Huckabee, a komodo dragon and the security guard who tasered that kid at UCLA to stomp your ass. Really though, please consider voting.

Think its gonna rain rain down, thinks gonna rain!

Well, it would hardly be fair if, after my rant about the heat, I did not give the weather its due: its finally raining. We endured the gross humidity for the weekend, and sure enough, it payed off. Rain. Washing eight months worth of shit off the road and sidewalks, this storm is sure to make the already questionable drivers in LA a little more annoying, and a little more likely to skid into each other. Be careful if you are driving in LA today.

Also, look out for all of the deathwish hipster high school kids who have jumped on the fixed gear band wagon since last winter and have never ridden a bike on a wet street. Those cute little side to side bunny hop skids that make you look so fucking bad ass all summer will not work today. Oh no. When you try them you will either a.) not stop, keep going, skidding with no control, or b.) stop, laying your bike down flat, either into the curb or into oncoming traffic. Ooops. And, if, when it happens, there is some guy with a thermos of coffee and an umbrella sitting at the corner of the intersection in a lawn chair, snickering, it is certainly not me. Nope, some other guy.

Now to go dry off my bike that was parked in the rain and find some deserted hills to skid down. Maybe I'll grow a mustache while I am at it..

-OSB