It’s the second day of 2009, and here I sit, in my only pair of tighty-whities, at my desk, surround on all sides by knick-nacks collected from the last 365 days; plants and power tools, empty glasses and dirty dishes, a twisted knot of USB and power cables connecting my digital life to my real life, two hot dogs, and a piping hot bowl of oatmeal with entirely too much maple syrup in it which is just the way I like it. Yesterday was the first day of 2009, and I say it’s about Goddamn time 2008 ended. It started so well, with the state wide smoking ban, and a new job at the Greenhouse, and a shiny new car, and all. And it looked like it was going to be a great year, and for the most part it was. My brother married a beautiful, wonderful woman whose drippy nose during the wedding ceremony made me feel like a hero. My parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary, showing the world just how unbreakable true happiness is. My country elected a strong, smart man to lead us, a shocking change of pace from our track record of the last few decades. And I finally grew a real mustache and followed it up with a surprisingly successful first attempt at a full beard. I also decided that plaid is my favorite color. Quite a list of accomplishments.
But then there was the shitty side of 2008. A whole mountain of shit. A pile so putrid, which stank up this country so effectively, that the odorous aftermath of a drunken White Castle binge could be considered an air freshener. I’m speaking of the Sarah Palin supports that slathered the internet with blatant racism in the guise of political activism. I’m speaking of the Corporate greed that became so overwhelming, it collapsed the money markets of the entire world. I’m speaking of the fact that my car got vandalized three different times, and then booted and towed, serving up a serious divot in my savings account. Oh yeah, and I lost my job at the greenhouse. What the fuck, 2008?
This pungent accumulation of sociological feces brings me to my point. Clean Slate Syndrome. Clean Slate Syndrome, or CSS, is when you find yourself in a situation where your past actions and situations no longer have any connection what-so-ever to your current state of affairs and therefore negate any validity or legitimacy of you previous self. Your slate has been sandblasted clean, by or against your will, and you must now completely redefine yourself to the world. It’s my favorite syndrome, Clean Slate Syndrome. To some, it’s the scariest thing on the planet, and I understand this now more than ever. I am currently in the process of being launched into the vast unknown without much besides my white-knuckled, panic-stricken, death-grip-locked hands clenched for dear life onto my butt cheeks. As I am catapulted away from everything that has become routine and normal in my life, an eerie and completely unjustifiable calm overcomes me; I find myself twisting, somersaulting and careening, head-over-ass, through countless unfamiliar situations. No work, no bread, no crutch, no girlfriend, no back up plan, no clear path to success ahead of me. It is simply terrifying. How the hell did this happen. I remember in November asking myself if the economic crisis was effecting my life and I distinctly remember coming up with the solid answer of, “No. Not in the least.” So I asked for a raise so that, at the tender age of 30, I might be making more money than I did stuffing envelopes while I was high as a kite throughout the summer of 1995. I did not get a raise. Instead I was “let go.” in 1995, I had long hair, dull wit, sharp fingernails and drawer after drawer of homemade tie-dyed tee-shirts. Now I have messy hair, a different belt buckle for every day of the week, a beard, and make less money. So why am I so calm? To me, it is yet another shot at being cosmically reborn. I will find work, I will make dough, I don’t need a crutch, that cute girl will totally fall for me, and I will continue to go forward through this quagmire with hubris and self-righteous indignation, because only hard drives and semi trucks back-up. In the meantime, I think I need a haircut.
This was brought to my attention by Mr. Bearhead himself, and reported here by the Chicago Tribune. Behold the Idiocy.
Fifth Third Bank robber busted after leaving behind own pay stub, FBI says
—Steve Schmadeke December 30, 2008
The note handed to a Fifth Third Bank teller Friday was clear enough (despite some language errors): "Be Quick Be Quit. Give your cash or I'll shoot."
What was even clearer to FBI investigators examining the note was that they were not dealing with a criminal mastermind. The alleged robber, identified Monday as Thomas Infante, 40, of Cary, had written it on the back of his own pay stub, which helpfully provided the FBI with his name and home address.
"It's fairly unusual that we see something that specifically stupid," said FBI spokesman Ross Rice. "But overall, we see a lot of strange bank robberies."
Infante is accused of robbing the bank at 4017 W. Lawrence Ave. in Chicago of about $400, according to an FBI affidavit filed Monday.
His demand note, written inside the bank on a torn half of his pay stub, matched up with the other half, which was found outside the bank doors. The pieced-together stub showed Infante was paid $165.99 by Jewel Food Stores on Oct. 23, according to the FBI.
Infante was arrested at his Cary home and allegedly confessed to investigators, according to the FBI affidavit.
I might have just started a new heterosexual long distance relationship with a schizophrenic zombie enthusiast. Take a look.
So, I am now beaming while prancing around my tiny apartment in this tiny leather studded thong. It's like a hair and leather tornado in a here. I think I just made myself gag. Happy Devilmas.
This video is made entirely out of synthesized awesome from American made, Japan owned factories in NewBraska, which happens to be in U.S. occupied Iraq. The second video is purely vanity.
Hello world. Here's to the good stuff. I went to a preachers house for Christmas diner and felt closer to perfection than I ever have, mostly because I was seated next to the preacher's mother and had the honor of pouring her a glass, or two, of red wine.
This movie is twisted. Mr Bungle seems to have that effect on people.
I lost my job, I worked all day Christmas Eve, I didn’t go home for the holidays, and it looks like my Christmas dinner is going to be a veggie burger, granola, and glass of bourbon. I needed a pick me up. Christmas morning my parents and I talked about politics and conspiracies, my brother and I talked about unemployment and lost friendships, and my high school girlfriend and I talked about how my personal misery and financial despair will make for some great blog topics. I can only respond to these three conversations by saying, “Is this what my life has intimately boiled down to?” The answer is no, of course not. There is a lot more to me than that. My life also includes laughing at other people’s failures. Laugh with me, people. It makes this downward spiral seem more like a carnival ride when people all around you are screaming along.
Thanks to Sam for pointing me towards on-line failure. Sam is a smokin' Blues singer from Boston, recently moved to Saratoga Springs. Check her out at samanthawhitehouse.com
From all of us at Obsquatch.blogspot.com, Merry Christmas Happy Holidays Go Fuck Yourself
Two days ago, I got laid off from the Greenhouse. Yesterday, I became deathly ill and am currently on the hunt for a vampire to bite me so I will never get this sick again. Today, I am wrapped up in plaid flannels and puffy fleece like an inflatable redneck burrito. It reminds me of nothing, so here are some interesting quotes from people you probably don’t know unless one of them is you, and if that is so, see what kind of profound effect you’ve have on my life?
"Bring a bunch of freezer zip-loc bags to the 'Employee Appreciation Lunch,' and just stock up for the next few months of unemployment."
“I wake up every day wondering what the hell I am doing in upstate friggin New York; can this possibly be my life? I pretend to look for a job every day, because there aren't any. I'm looking for a new band and working on some original tunes, and I'm also waiting for my acceptance letter from UAlbany. But what am I DOING here? That's a long story… It involves an upset ex-girlfriend, a judge and a probation officer”
“As much as I try not to admit it, I’m really good at being stood up as I am currently out on a date with nobody. Drinking alone has lost it’s allure, that’s if it ever had any allure in the first place, which it totally does even though I won’t admit that either.”
“I’m sitting in my toilet room”
“No one has put so much time into saying so little over the course of so many opportunities, and done it with such grace and style as Phil Collins. He is truly my hero.”
“We need to rewrite the Ten Commandments. First off, Don’t Be Nervous. Secondly, Don’t Be Creepy. I’m going to hold off on the other eight, as I’m going through these kinda quickly.”
David: Dude when we invented armpitting, we changed the world. me: Is that where all those fires came from? David: Probably me: Im gonna quote you on that, just so you know David: Good! The world is ready!
“God damn the whole fucking world, and everyone in it but you, Carlotta.” -The dying words of W.C. Fields, his wife’s name was Harriet.
There are times you know when something is a fad and you follow along becase you get swept up in what you think is a good idea, and for a week or two you feel really good about being part of something bigger than yourself, where there is this whole community of idiots scrapping and clawing their way over one another to get your attention for a three second to five minute blast of self indulgence, but then, suddenly, finally, self consciousness kicks in and you noticed that this completely false community of strangers and carpetbaggers have collectively pulled down their emoticon pants and taken a crap in an on-line paper bag with your name on it, and after lighting this bag on i-fire, they leave said bag on your e-front porch and ring your IM-doorbell and snicker and laugh from the inter-bushes while you get www.crap all over your boots.com, and I believe that facebook is responsible for a huge percentage of internet-bassed, flamming crap bags right now, but know this, you should understand that I’ve felt this way about facebook for quite sometime and was so happy with myself for not ever taking part in it, but if the truth must be told, and if there is one thing that happens on this blaaaaaahg, then the truth is told, so if the truth must be told again, then I’ve seen this false community rear it’s pointless head in two completely different, yet almost indistinguishable similar forms; ie, myspace and friendster, so I was especially pissed at myself for stepping on the http://flaming.paper/bag.com that the entirety of youtube dropped on my front porch, that nest of godless douche pumps, so hold on tight, kids... It's time for yet another failure in the online life of Obsquatch, alas, but all that being said, I still chuckle at a few choice moments of the videos I’ve made where I tap into some kind of humor that I would consider universally funny to people with brains, and I feel proud when someone gives me 5 out of 5 stars, and I think that I know funny youtubers and am selective enought with my "favorites" and subscriptions that I am keeping my end of the bargain as a member of team awesome, and I still want that cute actress in California that I’ve never talked to and will probably never meet, to ask me to move into her levitating, earthquake-proof castle made of grilled cheese and (un)funyuns, and help spend her family’s fortune as insanely as possible, but maybe something better is in the stars and complete lack of stars for me (as it is impossible to see the stars from where I am) because regardless of the things I liked about making videos and the people who watched them, I think I am done making video for a while, and there is a good reason for this, which is the fact that the last video I made was of me going over my poor decisions at the grocery store and only after I realized that 1)nobody gives a rats booty about how many hot dogs I can buy at once, and 2) this information is neither interesting or funny, in the least, did I stop myself and say, “let it drown, Obsquatch. Let it drown,” due to the undeniable truth in knowing that there is something universally more classy (if not also classic (in the least classic way possible (because there is nothing classic about writing a blaaaaahhhhhhg (or classy for that matter (but I seem to have gotten off topic (which is something I should be professionally sponsored to do (which makes me wonder what kind of product would sponsor someone who goes off topic constantly))))))) about blogging rather than vlogging (both of which are terms that I despise).
Yes, this was a weeknight. Yes, that's a lot of drinks for not a lot of bread. Yes, I got a little cross eyed by the end. Yes, it was all very tasty, even the bread. Yes, you can have my liver when I'm done with it, but I don't think you'll really want it. Yes, I have more hats. Yes, that dress makes your butt look big. Yes, I know the Second Annual Sketchy Mustache Competition is over. Yes, I know I still haven't sent Shawn his prize for winning said Sketchy Mustache Competition. Yes, that makes me a douche pump. Yes, I know there is no such thing as a douche pump in the actual world of douching. Yes, I've been called a douche pump before. Yes, I am still friends with that person. Yes, he does like the new GnFnR album. Yes, I'm way off topic. Yes, I am a yes man.
I try to call my folks every once in a while. This is what they had to say to me this weekend when I called them. “Your call has been redirected to sprint customer finance services, please do not hang up.” “Hi Mom! It’s me, Obsquatch. You sound weird, are you alright?” “To make a payment to apply to your over limit or past due balance, please hold.” “How are things in the frozen Tundra of Vermont. I really miss it; the snow, the mountains, my old friends, and of course you and pops.” “An immediate payment that satisfies your over limit or past due account may instantly reconnect service.” “I’m having a good time here in Chicago as winter sets in. I like the cold, but I think I’m the only person who does. Oh yeah, thanks for that bread recipe; I make my own bread now. I’m trying to get back east for Christmas or New Years.” “Para espanol, empuje el numero cinco…” “I gotta run. Say hi to pops for me. Thanks Mom!”
So, I haven’t paid the bill in a little while. Whoops. In all actuality, it’s kind of nice not being able to call anyone. I can still get calls, I just can’t call anyone back. And I can’t check my voice mail, or get text messages, or send text messages, or play World Of Warcraft: Cellphone Edition, which I didn’t anyway. Having a phone that only works when you don’t use it is like wearing a muzzle… on vibrate.
In other news, the Seven Deadly Sins Project has started the downward spiral of despair and self-loathing that all my little projects seem to end up doing. The reason this is happening is because I have a serious problem with the “Christmas Spirit,” mostly because I think it is pure and utter bullshit. Most religious historians admit that Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas day, or anywhere near this time of year, or, for that matter, in a manger, or in front of three kings, or under a big glowing star. Most of the Dec 25th stuff is a Christian adaptation and combination of Roman (Attis), Greek (Dionysus), and Persian (Mithra) Pagan elements, all of which focus around the winter solstice. Attis was born from a virgin mother, that almond loving slut, and Dionysus was the divine son of Zeus, at least one of the eighty (he can also turn water into wine, among other parlor tricks), and Mithra’s birth was witnessed by shepherds and gift-bearing Magi. So it looks to me like lil’ baby Jesus was nothing but a faker, a liar, a copycat, at best a celestial plagiarist. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna cut down a perfectly happy pine tree, cover it with popcorn, knick-knacks, patty-whacks, brick-a-brack and chocolate-covered pretzels, and think of it as some kind of birthday alter to a religious identity thief. Not in this dojo, mofo.
But Jesus’ obsession with stealing other children of God’s SS#’s is not why I don’t like Chirstmas, and it’s not the contrived, mass-capitalism that has gripped our nation, causing things like “Black Friday” and “The Christmas Effect.” It’s the fucking music. I am forced to listen to “The Holiday Light” radio station at the greenhouse. This causes massive amount of wrath to bubble up inside of me. It eventually spills out in sporadic fits of frothing madness. So, although not having paid my cell phone bill did cause me bouts of envy and greed, my wrath count has skyrocketed due to my dictated work soundtrack. Instead of giving you a list of the Seven Deadly Sins, I am going to provide you with a list of the most played Christmas songs over the course of an eight hour day. Let It Snow – IV The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year – VIII O, Silent Night – XI (mostly Bocelli and Josh Groban) On The First Noel – V Jingle Bell Rock – III All I Want For Christmas Is You – VII Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas – VII Little Drummer Boy – IV
Each time any of these songs makes it’s way to my ear drums, I feel like ripping the speakers out of the wall, setting them on fire, chanting some demonic incantation, ripping all my clothes off, and throwing myself into the fish pond. But remember that this is just a log of one day of the radio observation. We’ve been piping in “holiday music” for a week now, so if I add all these bits of rage together for the week, the numbers start looking like this.
Today, Chicago got its first snowfall. It didn’t stick around very long, but it never does. It was peaceful and beautiful and quiet and the whole of Chicago seemed to slow down and say, “Hey, I know that the next five months are going to be hell on Earth, but that’s kinda pretty.” It reminded me that I still haven’t written about the wedding that marked the end of the warm weather and the beginning of the cold weather. So without further ado, here is a recap of a part of Ryan and Hadley’s wedding as I remembered it a few days after the fact. Unfortunately for Ryan and Hadley, this part of their wedding has absolutely nothing to do with their wedding, but more to do with how I got there.
October 25th, 2008
Holy crap. Where to begin. I guess I have to make a list because lists are the best way for me to remember what actually happened while also aiding in the construction, demolition, embalment and the eventual resurrection of a time line of events that I don’t exactly remember, but have proof of their happening.
8am – woke up after 4 hours of sleep to meet Caroline for coffee 8:30am – Meet Alan in big white van that smells of beer, butt and Neitchz. 8:31am – Alan, Caroline and I wait for Mike in a parking lot at which point I cue up Surfin’ Bird by the Trashmen on the van stereo. 8:32am – Madness takes over as the volume knob on the borrowed van is cranked up in a way that would make nipples want to fall off and become sustenance farmers. 8:33am – Surfin’ Bird is dubbed the official song of the next 48 hours. Parking lot dance party / conniption fit ensues, onlookers take interest but do not interfere. Overcast skies, slight drizzle, light winds from the west, 85% chance of awesome.
8:34 – Everybody’s heard about the bird. 8:35 – Mike loads gear into van while Surfin’ Bird is declared the best song in the galaxy. 8:38am – Alan, and his new huge orange tinted sunglasses that fit over your normal glasses which have peripheral lenses in the ear pieces so you can see your ear hair growing, and also which come with a convenient clip that attaches to your sun visor so you don’t have to look for where you stashed them on your last road trip or last week’s visit to the old country buffet, gained a new persona. Van Guy VanDriver. When we would pass another van, he would say things like, “Hey, nice van, I have a van, too,” and, “My van has the power window / power locks / powerless passenger upgrade. What do you think about that, other van guy?” 9:30am – Picked up Freddie. Also picked up a rented digital P.A. system that I still haven’t paid for. With the successful assembly of 5 of 6 of the Sons Of Susan in a van, which was packed to the gills with equipment, instruments, and an exorbitant amount of clothing for one overnight trip, we headed to Michigan to play a wedding for our musician / alcoholic friend, Ryan. He was marrying his sweetheart and partner in crime, Hadley. In a world of darkness, sadness, and deadly sin, they are truly made of awesome. They are beacons of love and bacons of hope in a loveless world of single, bass playing people named Obsquatch. 10:00am – Overcast, drizzling, 70% chance of pointless arguments and tasteless humor. 10:01am – Obsquatch notes that, “the world truly needs more truly mad scientists like Nicola Tesla.” Discussion of Tesla’s positive vs. negative effect on the world followed including a discussion on whether or not he was responsible for an explosion that destroyed five hundred thousand square acres of land in Siberia in 1908, or it was aliens. The point was not brought up that Tesla might have been an alien, which would make both Van Guy VanDriver and me right. 10:27am – Freddie’s Jokes Are Horrible. Thus begins the “Every Bit Of Humor That Escapes Freddie’s Mouth Is Hilarious And Terrible” chronicles, or E.B.O.H.T.E.F.M.I.H.A.T.. Part 1 – “Why does Michael Jackson like twenty-eight year olds? Because there are twenty of them.” 10:32am – Groaning continues. 10:43am – The van that Van Guy VanDriver is driving at breakneck speeds, is equipped with XFM which is just like the real radio but a lot more expensive so that you don’t have commercials to cue you when to change the station. We began to play the radio game, where you get one point for being the first person in the Van of Terror to name the tune and one point for naming the band. 10:44am – Got sick of playing the radio game. 11:03am – EBOHTEFMIHAT Part 2 – "Liberace was great on piano but he sucked on organ." 11:15am – Everyone is happily forced to wear Van Guy VanDrivers Sunglasses. A photo was taken but because we were going so fast, time and space bent around us and the image is slightly altered. The sheer levels of awesome that were prevalent in the Cosmic Van of Radness also effected the photo. 11:20am – Van Guy VanDriver mentions, “my phone is so smart, it knows when we cross a time zone and automatically switches back an hour.” Obsquatch responds, “That may be smart, but in a Terminator way because it just wants you to age faster and die off so that it can spend your hard earned money on internet porn.” Van Guy – “My phone is so smart that it knows that you don’t ever need to spend a dime to get internet porn.” Obsquatch – “Every phone knows that, but your phone is such a dork, I saw it playing Magic The Gathering in the high school cafeteria.” Van Guy – “Nooooooo! Why, smart phone? Don’t you know that’s social suicide?” 12:30pm – Partly cloudy, windy, 90% chance of crappy food and indigestion. 12:31pm – We are burger KINGS!
I had a Burger King Veggie Burger with Chicken Fries, a truly confusing mix of vegetarian and carnivore fair. I also think I went back for a second burger called “Death by Bacon.” 12:35pm – In my mind, I renamed my second burger “Regrets by Bacon,” and relinquished control of my window to Van Guy. 1:07pm – Caroline suddenly shouts out, “I’m getting sick and tired or all these mother fucking snakes in this mother fucking van!” 1:45pm – I invented game I call Existential Rochambeau. Caroline and I got really good at it. It is just like paper-scissors-rock, except you make up what ever you want to use besides paper, or scissors, or rock because those three things always loose. The winner must me unanimously agreed upon which was easy when it was “Mushroom Cloud vs. Carebears” and "Van Guy VanDriver vs. Bad Pirate Impersonation" but got tricky at “Darth Vader vs. T-rex” and “Robot Dancing vs. Origami” and even harder at “Pez vs. Queen.” To clarify, it turned out to be all the Pez and all the Pez dispensers in the world vs. Queen and the legacy they left on Earth. Initially, Queen was declared the winner of this epic battle, but after mulitple appeals and numerous long distance phone calls, Pez eventually won. It was a long and arduous battle involving multiple member of my family and the, up to this point, totally forgotten 6th member of the band. 2:26pm – Van Guy VanDriver goes 87mph in a borrowed van that was given to us under the condition that we keep in around 65. The seat belts in the back do not work and I became a Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, and Shaker all at once just to make sure I got one of them right in case the van suddenly transformed into a sub-sonic flaming ball of death. 2:34pm – Van Guy VanDriver pulls into our hotel and we meet up with the 6th Son of Susan, who was dearly missed during this road trip. The wedding is hours away and showers are needed, but before debriefing, this photo is snapped and the madness is frozen in time, forever.
I know when I've found genius at work, and the person who remade these confusing 80's videos by replacing the lyrics of the tune with what is actually happening in the video is right up there on the genius chart. Just above "angry boxer turned super happy toaster spokesman" and right below the inventor of Chia Pet.
I crack up just thinking that someone had to storyboard the original videos at one point. I know that musicians are up for just about anything, especially when they were all super coked up in the 80’s, but just imagine some video director saying to you, “Ok, you’re gonna fly around a library following a librarian that will tweak your nose in front of a string quartet while the guitar player makes out with this chimp which should distract the viewers from that black guy kicking the crap outta the Jew in the Periodicals section.”
In other news, I’ve continued to keep track of my deadly sins but have started calling myself on them as they happen. This seems to creep out whomever I am talking to. I am starting to yell out the sin I commit, I pull out my little black book, flip through my easy-to-read sin tabs, and check off a deadly sin with out skipping a beat in the conversation. Here’s an example of the conversation to follow.
"Pride!" “What? What the hell was that, Obsquatch?” “Well, if you really want to know… we were talking about how nobody really likes New Jersey except for people who live there, and I started thinking about these signs I used to see in Vermont that say ‘Don’t Jersey Vermont,’ and then I remembered the only time I went to New Jersey on purpose and how depressed I got looking at the endless suburban sprawl that New Jersey-ians call wilderness, and then I felt proud to grow up in such a beautiful place like Vermont. And that pride was deadly.” “Oh.” “That, and I was picturing that blond in the coffee shop drinking her grande-caramel-half-caf-macchiato-double-shot-of-espresso-re-caf-with-soy butt naked.” “Lust, right?” “No. Sure she’s cute, but I really wanted to see her spill it all over herself and run out screaming naked bloody murder.” “Right… wrath.” “You got it. But you were kinda right, I was also picturing the crazy old lady out front of McDonalds riding a mechanical bull, wearing nothing but a tiara, and trying to eat a polish sausage doused in mustard. That’s lust.” “Anyone ever tell you that you are one sick puppy?” “Yes, and I’m proud of it, my friend.” “I’m not envious of you.” “Then you are half the deadly sinner that I am.”
Let’s do the numbers. Lust – 19 Wrath – 44 (I had to take down all the decorations I had been putting up for three days, and replace them with new ones that don’t look as good. That was the closes I’ve ever come to the veins in my forehead exploding. Why is it Christmas time right now? Grrrrrrr… 45) Gluttony – 7 (I’m so hungry) Greed – 1 (I wanted S.O.S. to make more money for playing our friends wedding because we kicked so much ass! Crap! Pride! Crap!) Pride – 22 Envy – 5 Sloth – 13 (It took me five days to move twenty feet. I’m easily distracted by Lust, Wrath, Gluttony and Pride)
