I am adrift

I am a survivor. I feel like I want a tattoo. But I'm wearing a dogsuit, that'd be silly.

My friends, I have not only not updated, but I've not even updated regularly, for quite some time. Since this past May, I have fought a battle with cancer. It has taken its toll on me mentally and physically. But my friends, I have survived.

I am a changed man. I have newfound respect for myself, my life, my body, and most importantly, My Master. And even, begrudgingly, My Nemesis. I wrote briefly about my surgeries earlier this summer. That was bad enough. I'm still in the prime of my life but I feel like an old man, missing the teeth I'm now missing. The kind of old man who you see on the street and wonder where he should be but isn't. I haven't gone out dancing yet, mostly because Pedro doesn't know I'm done with treatment. Nor did he know I was even in Chicago; I told him I've been away for the entire past month. I just can't deal with that right now. I need to focus on myself.

I've been in a very contemplative mood since I've finished treatment. I wonder if it’s akin to the feeling an addict gets when he or she finally kicks a serious Beggin Strips or Snausages habit. I'm not sure, but I'm resolved to do everything within my power to see that this never happens to me again. I have changed my diet significantly. I've cut back to one small cup of coffee, and have begun juicing every morning. I can feel the results, I think. I've also almost completely removed gluten and grains from my diet. While reading about tumors during treatment, I read that for international men of mystery in dogsuits like me, grain is a sort of anabolic steroid for a tumor. It's safe to say I cut that shit out pronto. I now eat a mixture of vegetable, fruit, and meat. I do occasionally enjoy a apple fritter or hunk of fry bread, but it's a rareity these days. I already feel better, although I'm not going to lie, I miss Doritos, and two Danish morning meetings. A lot.

I have also had the time to sit back and contemplate where I'm going. What I'm really doing with myself. I will obviously keep writing screenplays. My agent called me recently and said someone had shown interest in something that eight months ago he “couldn't pitch to anyone." I don't know if he's been jerking me around the past eight months to milk monthly fees from me, or if he just feels sorry for me. I can tell you though; it's not my best work. But apparently they've spoken with George Clooney and Michael Keaton. No Hanks. Thank God. If Michael Bay is tapped to direct, I WILL kill myself. 

But I'm talking about what I'm really going to do. This experience made me think about my own mortality, seriously, for one of the first times in my life. I have long forged my own trail. I went where other men in dogsuits dared not go, few even dreamed. But I know that. I have thought deeply about where I'm going to go, or if I even want to keep forging this path of mine.

I have the money I need to continue into the future. It's not an issue of money. I have plenty, my cousin Jorge is constantly making me more money with the money I already have. I have more toys and peanut butter chewies than I can count. And the screenplay racket always brings something in. I'm tired of financial work, especially following this Occupy Wall Street movement. It's truly the Will of The People in action. While I was working on The Street in the 90’s, the writing was on the wall. It's time those people give back. I don’t want to be one of them anymore. My Nemesis (ugh) once said he left the mortgage business because he didn’t want to keep selling people loans that they didn’t need, and whose terms they didn’t understand. I feel a bit of the same right now. I’m not sure how I feel about that. 

Thus far I have lived a full life indeed. And I’m happy with where I am right now. I am just wondering, contemplating, what’s next. I don’t want to continue to earn money for its own sake. Screenplay writing is fun, but the quality standards are declining in Hollywood so much that I don’t really see the point anymore, unless I could control the entire creative process.

I’m looking for something that will please me. Make me feel fulfilled and happy. And something that will allow me to give back. I hope to have something soon. I can’t just keep thinking. I am not nor do I want to be a college professor.

OccupySmokey

Protests have been going on in my current hometown. I may be part of the 1%, but I can relate with troubles that the other 99% have. I have been battling cancer and trips to what must be a special ring of hell, a small town called Urbana in Illinois. Staying in seedy hotels, staying in even seedier places of unknown purposes and intents,  I have been grasping at straws to maintain my sanity and comprehend what seems to be some sort of "special treatment" that is given to me every morning.

From what I can deduce,  I am slipped roofies everyday before noon. I am taken back to a room where I pass out, and  I wake up to several females fawning all over me and the smell of alcohol stinging my nostrils. Now these females aren't tens, but they aren't ones either, so on one hand I wonder if I am blessed.   There are bright spot lights and loud clanking noises. I hear other barks and moans coming from all corners of this . They have held me hostage a few nights, which surprises me because my owner is an expert at holding me in captivity.

In the dark of the night, when we are sure that everyone else has left, us fellow humans in dog suits, speak about our experiences. Tears are shed, hugs are had, emotions run raw. It is a support group so to speak, but we keep it on the down low in case that anyone (including the despicable felines) should come back to check on us or rat on us. What happens while I am passed out I can only guess but it is has been the subject of many nightmares even with my intense love for everything female.  I hope to get to the bottom of it and then start a foundation for puppies that have gone through similar experiences. It is time that I start spending my vast fortune on a good cause, and this is the motivation I need to do so.

Being the top 1% comes with some of the same problems as the other 99%, but I can assure you, nothing is perfect and we will all pay our dues someday.

My Nemesis and I make the news

I am the best part of the story.

http://chicago.cbslocal.com/2011/08/15/auto-thefts-surge-in-chicago/

My Fight

It has been ages since I have written.  Same scenario for my screen play. I got to the climax and realized that it essentially had the same plot as Rambo: First Blood Part II, except instead of the main character being a beefy man, it was a handsome, beefy, chihuahua, similar to myself, minus the disturbing amount of sweat, and plus the rippling muscles. A sombrero instead of a bandanna. A black sombrero.

Many things have happened this summer good and bad. On a more sour note, I had a battle with mouth cancer. The cubans I smoke with Pedro may have been one reason, although I cannot be sure. I have never been a huge fan of flossing either, I always thought peanut butter chewies would do the trick. Alas, my bad habits caught up with me. Luckily the surgeon was able to extract it from my mouth, and my cancer is not likely to return. But my bad habits have returned tenfold. Pedro and I attended all of the important Lollapalooza after parties and puffed on many a cuban.

I have now moved to a new penthouse that hotties from all corners of the country have been visiting right off the bat. I have my own room although people seem to think that they can sleep in my bed, fine if you are a lady, not cool if you are a man. Little do they know the blanket and sheets they lay on have been licked by my dirty cuban cigar mouth. Every square inch. Thrice.

Now that I have my own office and room I will be able to work full time on my screen play. No distractions. Pedro is visiting relatives in Cancun, and will not be back for 6 months. When he comes back he often has a month of recovery, and owes many people money, so he lays low until his business is up and running.

And this time I am not even going to try doing an action movie. It will be a horror. And it will be the most gory, riveting masterpiece yet. I will keep you posted on my work.

Red Pill V Blue Pill

I had the choice. They found me. My qualities attracted them. My philosophy in life. I have no fear and I was searching deep within my soul for an answer. An answer to all this madness. We all search, but what set me apart from others is that I was willing to give my life for the answer. Also, my search was not for cool ranch Doritos, or what movie to watch that evening, like the shallow searches my Nemesis and Master often embark upon.  And then they found me, and I had to choose.

So I, like Neo, and others before him, was put in the red chair. Told to choose, blue or red. I take the blue pill, and I wake up as I normally do. I am a morning person, I love to eat breakfast, lounge around, read the morning NY Stock Exchange, and then gradually work myself outside for a morning trot and dumping of excrement onto my fellow Chicagoans lawn. I knew if I took the blue pill, I would probably forget that I had encountered the opportunity to go "deep into the rabbit hole to find the real truth." I would go to work, come home, and think deeply about what else is out there. And why am I here? What is the point of this madness? Day in and day out, I have a feeling I am in a prison. I cannot leave when I want, (without sneaking out with the help of Pedro) I am constantly starving for money, food, and women, I have an insatiable affinity for life, I want to taste it all, I want to smell it all. And I want to know why

So it sounds like I am going to take the red pill, but if I had I would not be writing this to you now would I? I would be off in a hover craft somewhere, learning ju jitsu and kung fu and sharpening my ability to abandon my human in a dog suit shackles in the matrix. I would be able to "bend the spoon" so to speak. I would abandon all fear, and realize the capabilities that I have bend time and space allowing me to fly to heights no chihuahua has ever flown to.

The truth is, my weakness in the end, is and was ladies. Sorry Morpheus, I shall never be able to live without a wide variety of women in my life. I could care less if they are real or not, they feel real to me, they smell good, and that is all that matters.

Call me shallow if you will for not choosing path to truth. I will find my own truth, in my own time. In the meantime I will celebrate life one lady in a red dress at a time.

Absolute Time

I have been reading up on Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. I just cannot wrap my mind around the fact that most humans have not figured out, or accepted that absolute time does not exist. I am not sure of other breeds, but I know that Chihuahua's possess the ability to experience time in its many different forms and avenues.

I am also lower to the ground, so time moves much slower for me due to gravitational forces. I have calculated that an average peanut butter chewy takes me about four hours to eat, whereas it would only take a human about four minutes to eat. Now, I know there are other mitigating factors to pay attention to (like why My Nemesis continues to steal my chewies), but let's focus on time, and time only, that's what you humans are best at anyway right?

I always wondered why humans cannot understand why when they arrive I am astonished at how long they have been gone. It really has been 4 excruciating months. Think Dog Years people.

Actually, just think of time as anything but an absolute. As long as I have lived I have afforded myself this luxury and I rarely feel stressed, and I often think of what possibilities might exist out there deep beyond in galaxies that you humans are too wrapped up in time to imagine. As the universe has continues to expand, I go along with it, and am a much happier puppy because of it.

Old vs. New

As I've said already, I'm experiencing a blue period right now. Although I had a conference call with my agent this morning, and it went well, I'm still having somewhat overwhelming doubts about my desire to truly work in and around the film industry. But, I've not given up hope. In the meantime, I still have this on off gig with my former employer in the UK, and it is honestly a bit relieving to do day in day out work, it provides some type of baseline, if nothing else.

Today, though, I'm having a hard time. I was out till 2am last night, with Pedro, as usual. Another cousin of mine, Jorge, was out as well, but left at midnight like I should have. He's a stockbroker, and I should have followed his lead. But, I needed last night. The DJ was on full steam, and was mixing great classic tracks with newer stuff.

I heard both of these last night, and decided to repost them, since I'm still thinking of them right now. The first, again, takes me back to my heyday in NYC in the early 90's, when my cousins and I would tear the shit out of any club we hit, and were still getting huge bonuses and making all our meetings. We were fucking rock stars. I truly am feeling my age in the midst of this existential crisis. It could also have been the 8 shots of Patron I had last night, I'm going to let the jury decide that one. But, it was at that moment last night, when I knew I was going to be a wreck this morning, that the second track came in, and picked me right back up. I'm thinking of booking Joker for my birthday next year, or perhaps on Mexican Independence Day this year, although I'm sure that idea will be sidelined in favor of some stupid Mariachi band or retarded Reggaeton DJ.

At any rate, I have to get back to work, but it felt good to get that off my furry little chest.



vs.

Don't Try

I am adrift in an existential mire. Per my last entry, I've increasingly found myself under fire for deadlines on my screenplays, to the point of a near inability to tolerate the creative process. For the first time in my life, I've considered returning to the humdrum of currency markets and financial analysis. I've just been so taken aback by the reality of writing and the demands of Hollywood

I've also as of late found myself increasingly turning to my cousin, Pedro for solace, which usually leads to me watching the sun rise and waking up the next day smelling like breakfast burritos from The Hollywood Grill (no relation to my current issues, they're open all night and breezies frequent the establishment from 2-5am). This, obviously, is not good, but I feel I'm in a truly blue period right now, and Pedro is helping, in his own way. His ever optimistic spirit helps pull me up when I need it, even if it's only to down another shot of Patron.

It's times like this when I turn to my tried and true quote book. I found a particular quote in there today that is quite demonstrative of my situation, and lends advice.

"Somebody at one of these places...asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them, you don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation, or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it, or if you like its looks, you make a pet out of it." - Charles Bukowski

I remember dropping my coffee the first time I read this passage. As I sit here now, tired, overwhelmed, and under stimulated, its meaning has never been more lucid to me. I am who I am. There is only one of me, and as such, I need to keep on keeping on. I must. It's for the best, not only for me, but for those around me.

To this end, I've started therapy. As My Master so often says "Smokey has a lot of issues today." Today, my friends, is everyday. And, as I look a month back at my 42nd birthday, it's about time I tackle the issues that are still, to this day, keeping me from truly self-actualizing. I am an artist, a sensualist, and a hopeless romantic. I need to confront my darkest depths if I'm going to continue my ascent towards the stars.

Here is a picture of me in therapy. My therapist uses animal avatars sometimes, when it's too hard for me to talk about my own issues. I think I chose a nice one. This is really helping, I'm sure of that already.

Freakend

First, an update. I have not been blogging as much as of late. There are several reasons for this. First and foremost, I've been under extreme duress as far as my professional writing goes. Specifically - I'm an artist. As an artist, I can't really be expected to simply churn out work to please the time constraints of others. If I get declined by a sweet chippie and hit a blue period for two weeks, then my work suffers for two weeks. Big deal.

There is literally nothing I can do about this, yet studio executives do not seem to agree. If I had wanted a 9-5 job, I'd have stayed on full time in the UK as a financial analyst. I need more than that, ladies (gentlemen too, although I don't really care what you all think). I need more. I'm not the type of puppy who can just go along with being told what to do. Those years are past me. In my early to mid twenties, I could have put up with such rough treatment, despite my value add to the company. But no more. No more shall I be made to feel as if my work is anything less than the prize that it is.

So, due to these external demands, I've lost a screenplay contract. This just goes to show how much chicanery and utter bullshit is involved with Hollywood talent agents. They all want to be your friend, they'll offer to clean up your poop, bring you chewies, and I'd assume even in some cases (you can tell, they act effeminate from fifty paces) lick you when you're too tired to lick anymore. It's disgusting, it really is. While I consider myself a purist, and try to shy away from using agents and their representation to push my screenplays, there are times when I have to, if for no other reason than they have contacts that I don't.

So, there's my first reason. It's hard. I want to update this site more often, I really do. I have a constant stream of ideas bubbling out of my tiny furry head, I just don't often find the time, or am simply frustrated with the practice of writing, to update as much as I'd like.

Now, my second issue: My Cousin Pedro. Now, I mean, Christ, look at him. Does he look like anything other than a distraction? This is from last Saturday. My Nemesis's sister and brother in law were in town. I have met them before, and in fact nearly seduced his sister once, read an earlier entry for a synopsis of that night. So, we go out and hit the town hard on Thursday (some Irish folk holiday devoted to, as far as I can tell, Irish beer (yuck) and whiskey (better)) and I take them out for a really nice meal on Friday. Saturday night we all decide to just stay in, listen to some music, and hang out around the house. Fucking Pedro shows up at 12:30am, all dressed up, coked out of his mind, and starts yammering about how we're all going to The Evil Olive, because he knows the bouncer working and says we can all get in for free, and get cheap drinks. Now, I KNOW he's full of crap, but I play along, if only to placate him enough so he leaves My Master, Nemesis, and his sister and brother in law alone.

We end up getting back at 5am. My head still hurts. I slept all day today, and although I went into work with My Master today, I'm still planning a day of heavy sleeping.

So...I don't update as often as would be ideal, and I'm catching flack for being "late" with my screenplays. As long as this guy is in my life, I think I'm going to have to get used to this. He's family, and I'm Mexican, there's nothing I can do.

An Ode to What Will Never Be

I awoke this morning in a shroud of sadness. One single tear fell to the ground and splattered, and symbolized the hopes and dreams of this country being free and equal. We are born and die who we are, the poor most often die poor, and the rich most often die rich. These are the labels of Americans these days, we are no longer an equal society, either we fight the rich, or we try to ignore the poor. I do not

always fly in my private jet, nor have my driver to escort me, I walk these trash filled streets, and ride the subways. Every single day I see people begging for survival, way too many people. Our leaders have forgotten these people. I am currently reading "Decision Points" by our former President. The most introspective opinion he had in his book was about how stalemate our Congress has become.

"In 2006, only about 45 of 435 House races were seriously contested. Since members in so called safe districts do not have to worry about challenges from the opposite party, their biggest vulnerability is getting outflanked in their own party. The result is that memeber of Congress from both parties tend to drift toward the extremes as insurance against primary challengers."

A real leader would think for all of the people, not try and please the parties that have been crushing our democracy more and more every year. A real leader would reform our political system, although as GB pointed out, this would mean that politicians would have to give up some of their power, which we know will never happen.

The hope that if you worked hard you could make a decent living and provide basic neccesities for your family is being diminished by the greed of those whose pockets run deep with money, and ties to power. Most of the politicians are no more intelligent than two year olds, yet they make decisions that decide the fate of millions of Americans. How has our country come to this? Maybe it is our education system, it has failed so many of us.

Yesterday history was made in Wisconsin, by a man who failed out of college, and who has failed to hear the country's cries of dissaproval in taking away rights from workers. Being a small dog, this affects me, I am a minority, and my vote is delegated to My Master, who turns a sharper ear than mine to my political musings.

I am no longer Democrat or Republican. My philosophy contains the notion of education, healthcare, and freedom of choice. This country has nothing to offer me, and never will.

February 16th, 2011

Happy birthday to me.

Another year down. How far have I come?

Well, let me sit back and count my blessings.

2010 brought me:

Bevies of runway models

A new BMW 745, with Blizzack all season radials

A surprisingly positive return on my stock portfolio (thanks to my cousin, Jorge, and his shrewd investment strategies)

Many lost nights, and a few lost weekends with Pedro

A new job opportunity for a former employer, with none of the bullshit and all the financial gains

Leads are coming back for three of my screenplays

I have more, but suffice to say, 2010 treated me well. I was able to get in a trip to New Orleans with My Master, on our way to our new home, Chicago. This worked out very well, I have been wanting to live closer to my cousin Pedro for some time. His operation up there has been poised to grow for some time, and now that I'm here I can take a more active role in soliciting new business capital and creating subsequent revenue streams. It's worked out quite well thus far, and shows vast promise for the future.

I might get to buy that island and fill it with peanut butter chewies and topless Brazilian women before it's all over, after all.

The only real negative to this past 12 human months has been the introduction of My Nemesis. He is truly a disgusting human being. Bereft of any sense of fashion or style, he is always wearing the same ugly green pants, insists on riding his bike everywhere (I've yet to let him ride in my 745 out of general principle), and usually smells like he hasn't showered for days. I continue to implore My Master that she can do better, but for some reason she is very taken by him. This is something I'll never understand, but then again, humans will never understand the majesty and glory of the peanut butter chewy, or how satisfying it is to lick feet. I guess no species is perfect, but I'm close.

In a rare moment of humanity, My Nemesis made me an "Alpo cake" for my birthday the other night. He was very excited about my birthday, saying the number 42 had some magical significance or something. It probably relates to some pagan god or something, who knows what this troglodyte thinks. While I wanted to lecture him about my affinity for mignon and vintage Dom, I held my tongue and enjoyed the cake he made. People from Minnesota do leave something to be desired, but they do try when they need to, so I allow them to cling to life, I guess.

I also allowed myself to be photographed, and am even going to post said photo here. I look happy, right?

I have also been really digging on a 3 hour techno set from a favorite performer of mine, Tony Child. It was recorded just this past October in Australia. It really covers the gamut of the older sound, and per my entry regarding the Mills track below, so much of this takes me back to my NYC days. Pedro was there, he can tell you. How we both made it out of that time period alive and with all our toes I cannot know. If any of you would like to hear electronic music as it was meant to be, have a listen to this:

Surgeon live at The Forum, Sydney, October 2010

A little for the masses

This is a def. top ten for me. It calls back to my time in NYC as a currency trader, and nights at Tunnel or Limelight, when Mills was a resident. It's not 1993 anymore, but still to this day, it's hard to top the master himself. It's so simple, gets right to the point, and the low end gets my furry ass moving, time in and time out. It was a simpler time.

My cousin Pedro has no taste for this sort of thing. He prefers Dave Guetta or Bob Sinclar. I just don't get it. I just don't.

The real way to a good nights' rest

I have found it. Finally. After looking long and hard, I have found the perfect sleeping scenario. It has taken me many a moon, but at long last I’ve found it.

Tempurpedic, you say? Yes, the Swedes can make a nice mattress, but after owning their flagship mattress in a California King size (I always have room for a few friends) in the early part of the last decade, it’s just not for me. A Sleep Number bed? I don’t think so. I do find myself, on long roadtrips through My Master’s home state, listening to AM radio, and yes I hear many commercials during breaks in the rancorous hate-mongering of Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. But, my cousin Pedro had one of those, and we actually popped one of the air chambers after a rawkus night of super modeling and tamales, so I can’t fully endorse that brand, either.

But, my friends (mostly the ladies), therein lies the secret. A perfect night’s sleep doesn’t require a special Swedish air-filled radio mattress. Don’t be fooled by advertisements! The perfect nights’ sleep can be had anywhere! You might be surprised to hear me say this, but don’t be. After all, I’m a baby puppy, and if there’s anything I know about, beyond international political economy, currency trading, and young adult screenplays, it’s how to ensure I get good sleep. How else can I maintain this glossy coat, or keep the wrinkles under my darling brown eyes to a minimum?

So, now you’re all asking, “My dear Smokenstein, what is your secret?”

I thought long and hard about publishing this. I have come to the conclusion, which I’m comfortable with, that I should ideally include this as an aside in my upcoming screenplay. It’s one of those secrets that merits disclosure, but I’d like it to be only known to those who are, as My Nemesis (the ass) says from time to time “down with it.” As My Master and Nemesis have spies everywhere, who no doubt read this blog, and report back my thoughts, plans, and desires, to be used against me. But it doesn’t matter, here’s why.

The perfect sleeping position is a complicated thing. There are many factors to consider: the number of layers of blankets and each blankets’ thickness; the temperature of the ambient air in the room; is my little head covered or not; whether or not to leave feet out; to name a few. THAT is the conventional wisdom, and it’s all wrong!

It always starts the same. My Master and Nemesis go to bed, and I dutifully climb down to the bottom of the bed, under the sheets, and lick feet. It’s a guilty pleasure, I don’t expect you to understand it. I am who I am. As soon as they are asleep, and it doesn’t take long, especially for My Nemesis, the buffoon, I climb back out. This is the true secret. I climb back out, and I proceed to lay between them. Now, you’re asking yourself, “between them? This doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Oh but my friends, it does, and therein lies the secret. The fact that nobody believes me is the best part. As described above, the blanketing is very important. I cannot stress this enough. Although I am small, I have a surprisingly complex internal temperature regulating system, it makes for problems unless everything is just so. I have tried 800+ goose down comforters, I have tried sleeping bags. I have used 5 layers of 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. I have even tried electric blankets. Although each has its place the game of life, none are perfect. This is when I realized that if I correctly position myself, I don’t need any of it! The heat given off by My Master and Nemesis is in itself the perfect solution. Their combined bodyheat (mostly My Nemesis, jagoff) is stifling, but this is why laying between them is so important. By laying between them I am able to get the best of both worlds; their blazing combined heat warms me to my little puppy core, and it is immediately dissipated because I have nothing covering me. I am truly in the valley of the sleep gods. Although it worries me sometimes, being so close to the ass of My Nemesis, who is known to drop what he affectionately (jagoff) refers to as ‘bombs’ during the night, I have thus far remained unscathed, and I grow more and more confident each night. Now, this no doubt infuriates My Master and Nemesis, as I am basically stealing their covers, which their cold hairless bodies depend upon for warmth, but seeing as I’m the baby puppy in the room, I think I deserve a little more.

And, I am clearly getting it. Night in and night out.

So, there. I, Smokenstein X. H. McGothlin have shared one of my most closely guarded secrets. All you non baby puppies need to do now is find two creatures approximately 10x your size, and the bed they sleep in, and you too can have the best nights’ sleep of your life, each and every night.

#483

Why I quit Facebook, I do not want my firstborn to be a PC/Chihuahua mix.

To all you non-disguised humans, I did it. The cajones in me, the fear deleting my account would somehow compromise my identity was the final straw. I do not want to be on my death bed compulsively checking my friend's relationship status when I come to out of a morphine cloud.

It scares me to the point of pissing my fur pants.

Many of you were not my friends on facebook, many were. Like any other dipshit excited to meet up with my relatives back home in Chihuahua, or mi amigas all over the world, with an annoying amount of enthusiasm, leaped onto the bandwagon, bounded, all four paws.

Thinking, This is better than MYZpace. More "cool." At least more entertaining than that joke of a website the cat's made with their misspellings and what no

The diluted communication with others that are far away drew me in. I could go visit my friends in Japan on a whim. But wait, I only sang karaoke with once. Wouldn't it be awkward if I just randomly FB'd them up to come visit? We haven't spoke one word since my visit, but from facebook I hear that they currently are loathing their new emo haircut and they never got over Sheri leaving the Runaways. I am not a big fan of Joan Jett, and I make fun of emo haircuts, it would be difficult to hold composure with these people, even with mass amounts of Sake.

Short seconds turned into excruciating hours, I started to use FB less. I got violently ill upon hearing of people having a bad day, projectile vomit covering walls in reaction to truth I did not want to know, my brain started to bleed at there mere sight of a status update.

I do not care whether or not you drank so much that you slept with a vagrant of the same breed, or are bawling because you realized that Dave Matthews Band really does suck. Especially if our interactions have consisted of a small conversation in a pub one night after 46 shots of Tequilla.

Facebook makes a mockery out of true friendships, and realistic relationships. To think that you can be friends with over 1,000 people is ridiculous. Real relationships take work that most of us don't want to make, and effort that most of us loathe others for.

Many of us know people, but to say every one we know is a friend is a lie. We do not care about the people we know like we care about the people we love. Facebook proves how lazy we are, we don't want the real work of a relationship when we can just click and get the instant gratification.

I understand that I don't have facebook anymore and I will still use electronic devices to communicate, but I don't have to hear about someone's bad haircut every time I pick up the phone. I do not have to feel guilty that although FB proclaims that I have over 3,000 friends, I only talk to three of them, or actually care to hear what two of them have to say.

My search for meaning comes from a different place. I want to talk, I want to write, and I want to listen. In the time before facebook, I remember a weird thing I used to do which was think, it REALLY was weird, I would think, then if a thought was relevant, or consumed me for a long period of time, I would share that thought with another human being. But if it wasn't, I would forget about it, and nobody would ever know...

I wouldn't call someone to tell them I just clipped my toenails and I accidentally snipped the quick. Get a grip folks, start to smile at people if you believe it is possible to have 3,000 friends. I mean I guess, the internet can be your best friend, but how will you procreate with it? No seriously, if you can explain this to me, I will join facebook again, and OK CUPID, and I will marry my PC. You non disguised humans really do annoy me sometimes.

A letter to my uncle

I have been receiving exorbitant amouts of mail lately. I absolutely loathe going to the post-office, UPS in Chicago is infamous for their sluggish service, so I have decided to respond via my blog.

From Uncle Matt:

Dear Smokey,

I can only imagine the hardship you are going through during this most difficult of seasons. As this is my 3rd attempt at overcoming this most frigid of WI seasons, I can only say good luck. My mental state is somewhat compromised from 3 days of intensly mind numbing training. I know you can relate- think UN council meetings where you would just assume start a war to liven things up a bit. Boy does the China PM like to go on.... The only ray at the end of my training was large quantities of Spotted Cow in the hotel. Yet no matter how much I drank didn't seem to make me drunk enough to forget the trainer saying 'What questions do you have about audit logs?' With such an opportunity to day dream (its the only way I cope through such times)... I now fear the 2011 plan that we both agreed on is in jeopardy. 'What questions do you have about life goals?' I don't know how you manage in this place so far from your homeland. Its been 3 years since I was in a comparable area. It really spoke to my soul. But the feeling has drained away like your morning piss in that dreadful patch of dirt they make you go in. 'What questions do you have about getting it back?' It doesn't seem productive to reminisce like this, but when its this fricking cold what else is there. I know I know peanut butter chewies and super sub.... Well I hope things are well with you and lets both hope spring comes soon!


Dear Uncle Matt,


I have endured many hardships this winter. It is so cold my teeth hurt upon walking outside. Snow that blows in my eyeballs and other random openings on my body, and a fur coat that is not nearly thick enough to keep me warm.

Besides all the work and weight issues, it is just a lack of meaning that I feel enveloped in. My life revolves around food, or lack thereof. I need to figure out what it is, the missing link. I want to find more purpose, I want to make a real difference. I awake every day to eat, then sleep, then eat again. Not just me Uncle Matt, we all do. Until we find some purpose, we are all just sleeping.

I must now work on my novel, yes I have been having writers block. How do you find inspiration in this frozen hell?

Dead Salty Winter

Russian Christmas has now passed. (The Russians have a tradition of celebrating Christmas weeks after we already suffered through it once this year by consuming mass amounts of cabbage and celebrating loud farts afterwards).

The frigid temperature of January has settled in. My paws now ache every time I walk. Thick layers of ice cover the frozen ground, and landlords refuse to do anything about in Logan Square. God forbid the city provides any services for its residents. The only benefit received from the horrid conditions outside is the joy I get from licking the salt of my furry paws. This salt is used to melt the ice on roads and sidewalks, and it gets stuck deep in the crevices of my toes. I am almost 100% certain the chemicals in this salt will lead to cancer of the testicles, and then I remember that I do not have those, courtesy of My demonic Master. I look forward to coming home to my toasty apartment, despite our less than classy neighbors and the constant beeping of horns as people treat our alleyways like freeways.

I have been working beyond my usual hours. I work from home most of the time. I work at my leisure so I can enjoy the occasional peanut butter chewy or a nap in the sun. New investments from China have forced me to go to the office and train new workers; this has been a pain, but in the long run the monetary awards will reap vast benefits.

I still struggle with my time in the shackles of the CTA. Snobby women with overpriced accessories sitting on the outside seat, homeless men overwhelming my sense of smell reeking of alcohol at nine in the morning, gross men spread eagle while I am scrunched in the inside of the seat as they snore away. I must say, I am a small creature, but I feel like the CTA takes away every bit of my personal space and dignity.

The New Year has presented me with many challenges, like that of losing my holiday weight. The cross fit training so far is okay, but I have not been going enough. I switched to light food, but I can still feel the fat on my stomach jiggle as a trot about.

I long for warm days spent carelessly.

The New Year's Eve

This holiday has always been among my most favorite. No other human holiday provides an equal opportunity for debauchery and reflection. Since I relish both in nearly equal proportions, I'm quite a happy camper come December 31st. In fact, the entire week between their Christmas holiday and New Year's Eve are quite enjoyable.

The week began at my Uncle Matt's house in Milwaukee. My uncle Mike was there too, it was lovely.

Friday began with a lovely breakfast courtesy of My Master and Nemesis; My Nemesis, in a rare moment of brilliance (His only? It's debatable.), stumbled upon this lovely thick bacon from a place a few of my cousins work at, although not the Logan Square location he frequents. If only he knew I could get that bacon for free. Ah, the dog's life, when you're an international man of mystery in a dog suit.

The evening started about 6pm at My Master's house. We all met and started drinking a bottle of Cook's champagne. Now, I realize that none of the people assembled have a tongue for champagne like mine, I seriously doubt any have ever even tasted a nonvintage Dom. God. So Cook's it was. I was lucky enough to only be offered a tiny dribble, even that was plenty enough to remind me of just how cheap and terrible champagne can be. Don't let my size or glossy coat fool you, I've toured the Champagne-Ardenne region extensively, and still have a case of vintage 88 I bought from a local vinter. This celebration didn't nearly warrant such a treat.

We went to a local taqueria right around the corner for dinner, Zacatecas. I must laud My Nemesis for his constant obsession with taquerias is right on point. My roommate Nathan was properly named Jesus, which gives me full rights to continue my role as Judas.

After everyone left me, I snorted ounces of cocaine at a party with hundreds of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. I crawled back home in the early hours. I slept for two days after.

I now need to concentrate on my New Years Resolutions. I see big things happening in 2011.