floorpie

I admire dedication. You have to, right? When someone’s totally committed to a course of action, even if you don’t agree with it, even if it’s the stupidest thing in the world, even if you know and they know they’ll pay for it later… you have to admire that.

>And I don’t mean the things that people do because they’re idiots and don’t know better. I mean the things that people do because they said to themselves, “If I’m going to do this thing, I’m going to do it full tilt. I’m not going to stop at the orange jumpsuit, which anyone could get with minimal effort. I’m not going to stop with the ski gloves or Doc Martens. I’m not even going to stop at stenciling this cheap football helmet. I’m taking this bitch ALL THE F’ING WAY!”

Balls to the wall dedi-fucking-cation, my friends.

Me, I’ve been pretty dedicated to going as fast and far as I can for the past year since the ADG break-up. And, as a wise friend of mine told me, once you reach a certain point of peace with yourself, the confidence and attraction seems to just flow out of you in all directions.

And she was right. It’s been a hell of a ride.

So much so, in fact, that I’m at peace enough with myself to be conducting an experiment with Friday Night Girl. Not out of malice, but purely in the interests of science. However many times we’ve been out, it’s been me who did the initiating, the planning, the communicating… the everything. She’s definitely been a willing participant (insert photographic evidence, affidavits, and video re-caps) and it’s not that I feel she’s trying to take advantage of my hospitality or anything… it’s more that she may be the type of LA woman who expects to be wooed.

And this is fine and expected.

To a point.

What am I trying to say? I’m trying to say that it takes some mutual participation, because frankly I ain’t that interesting, and I’m running out of stories and hip hole in the walls to take her to. So, for the next week, I’ll be waiting to see if she initiates anything, and if not…

Of course, I’m going to ignore the fact that she invited me to a friend’s restaurant on Sunday and I didn’t go.

I dated this girl a few months ago who, on our one and only date did not say a single word… and I’m only exaggerating slightly. By the end of the night I was exhausted, parched, and had small-talked my way from birth all the way through high-school. If I had agreed to a second date, I would have worked my way through high-school to present day and where would that leave me for a third? And she was hot. But sometimes hot isn’t enough. And that may be where Friday Night Girl is now.

Miniature Golf Girl, though, that’s a different story. As is [EDITED FOR CONTENT]

I talked about running live a while ago, and it, along with the domestication of the dog, continues unabated.

The reasons are good, though. There’s the female contingent… which again, is baffling. Why should I deserve any attention?

The bigger time suck, though, is (drumroll)… that I took back my fire-bombed apartment late last week. Which, if you do the math, means I moved back into my apartment exactly 4 months to the day since my apartment burned down.

4 months of only a skeleton-crew of possessions.
4 months of only scattered knowledge of popular culture due to no TV or radio.
4 months of wanting to do or reference something and remembering that oh yes, that thing I needed had actually cooked.
4 months of my life on hold.

Granted, it’s not over, yet. I still need to move in and sort a lot of my stuff that remains in my garage, covered in soot and possible ruined. What little stuff that could be rescued will be arriving back from my insurance company next week, and then there’s the shopping… oh, the shopping. Nevertheless, at least there’s progress, and at least I’m no longer transient. Even if I do still have little more than a bed and a chair.

So the rest of you are finally starting to get it. Good.

Bush’s Approval Rating Falls to New Low

WASHINGTON – More and more people, particularly Republicans, disapprove of President Bush’s performance, question his character and no longer consider him a strong leader against terrorism, according to an AP-Ipsos poll documenting one of the bleakest points of his presidency.

Nearly four out of five Americans, including 70 percent of Republicans, believe civil war will break out in Iraq — the bloody hot spot upon which Bush has staked his presidency. Nearly 70 percent of people say the U.S. is on the wrong track, a 6-point jump since February.

“Obviously, it’s the winter of our discontent,” said Rep. Tom Cole, R-Okla.

It’s only taken 2,300+ American deaths, 33,000+ civilian deaths, 1,300+ Katrina deaths, rising gas prices, torture in Abu Ghraib, a weakening dollar, an unprecedented national debt, and the worst world-opinion of the U.S. in recent memory.

>Oh, and Osama bin Who?

On issues, Bush’s approval rating declined from 39 percent to 36 percent for his handling of domestic affairs and from 47 percent to 43 percent on foreign policy and terrorism. His approval ratings for dealing with the economy and Iraq held steady, but still hovered around 40 percent.

Personally, far fewer Americans consider Bush likable, honest, strong and dependable than they did just after his re-election campaign.

By comparison, Presidents Clinton and Reagan had public approval in the mid 60s at this stage of their second terms in office, while Eisenhower was close to 60 percent, according to Gallup polls. Nixon, who was increasingly tangled up in the Watergate scandal, was in the high 20s in early 1974.

I don’t know what crazy grading system they use in D.C., but from where I come from 36-43% isn’t even an F. It’s an F–. It’s an:

“I’m sorry, but little Billy is going to be left back this year.”

“What? No! How could this be? Harold, did you hear that?! There must be some mistake!”

“I’m sorry I wish there was, but I’m afraid Billy is averaging around a 39%.”

“39%?! Are you kidding me? In that case, Harry, let’s forget that kid, he’s a fucking idiot!”

Say what you will about Paris Hilton, but it can’t be denied that she commands attention… and apparently obedience.

Just look at the expression on that interviewer’s face, he’s completely transfixed.

Paris: You will do my bidding for evermore.
Guy: I...will...do your bidding...for evermore
Paris: That’s hot

Then there’s the guy over her right shoulder, next in line to ask his dumb questions. He knows what’s coming. He’s smart. He’s self aware. And all he can think to himself is, “I’m about to be Paris Hilton’s bitch… I went to Columbia for chrissakes and I’m about to ask Paris Hilton who’s dress she’s wearing,”.

I don’t care what the haters say, she’s beautiful. If she showed up at your house to install your cable, you’d think you were suddenly in the middle of a porno film. If she was some regular girl you and your buddies saw at a bar, you’d be too scared to go up to her and give some lame-ass excuse like “I’m just not feeling it, bro. She’s prolly a bitch anyway.”

Also, did you know she was rich?

Here in Hollywood, people are falling all over themselves to be an extra on Grey’s Anatomy. People are quitting their jobs at a daycare in Iowa for the chance to be a corpse covered with a sheet in the background of a pan shot between one main character’s face and another. Yet here’s Paris, at a level of fame that’s nearly unparalleled, famous for… being Paris.

You’ve got to respect that.

She somehow parlayed doing what we all wish we could do (namely nothing sprinkled with the occasional party) into a hit TV show, modeling contracts, commercials, a catchphrase, and the like. Isn’t that friggin’ amazing?

The Paris is dead, long live the Paris.

Paging Dr. Freud

*ring ring*
Hello?
Hi, this is Michael in neuro-surgery, I was paged?
Uhh… I don’t (laughs), I don’t think so
You didn't page a neuro-surgeon?
Sorry, no.
Is this 457-2599?
Nope.
Ah, sorry! Good night.
Bye…

Best wrong number ever!

I’m the cock-o-the-walk, baby!

It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, Ill just never get tired of this:

>

I had this English Composition class back in high school where every few days we would have to do a “quick write”. Basically… well, not even “basically”, this is the sum-total of what the exercise was: you have 10 minutes to write about any subject that comes to mind off the top of your head. You are not allowed to stop writing; and, if you can’t think of anything you must write “I don’t know what to write” over and over again until you do.

I don’t know what to write.
I don’t know what to write.
I don’t know what to write.

I almost never didn’t know what to write, and I only say “almost never” because I can’t remember exactly. I do remember, or see in my mind’s eye, me scribbling this phrase down a few times, but I think I did so because I finally figured out that you could do so without punishment, and I wondered what it felt like to get away with not being creative. But then I remember picking up where I left off on whatever anecdote or story I was telling, and only got out “I don’t know what to write” two or three times.

These blog posts are like perpetual quick-writes. Granted, sometimes I spend a lot of time going over what I’m trying to say, or I’ve been thinking all day about something and have been mentally composing for most of the day. I’ve always done that, by the way… mentally compose. Long before I had a blog I would write down journal enttries, or stories, or grocery lists, or whatever compositional something it was, having already thought about it earlier. I do the same with pending conversations. I do the same with imaginary conversations. So, despite what I said in the previous post, I have a pretty good idea of what I’ll say to Jennifer Love Hewitt when I run into her at the Walgreens… it still won’t be smooth, though.

As an aside, has everyone out there found what they’re looking for?

The Oscars was on a few weeks ago or whenever the fuck, and I couldn’t have cared less.

>Despite the fact that I spend every day in Hollywood, and am inundated by tourists asking for my autograph and starlets asking for my number, I’m still less than interested in Hollywood’s biggest night. I’m sure 80% of it is just the bitterness that it has absolutely nothing to do with me. 30% is probably that I still haven’t replaced my burned-up TV and therefore have no real knowledge of anything entertainment-related. And another 57% is just the fact that I didn’t see any of the movies nominated this year except Munich (really really good).