Saturday, January 03, 2004

Well, T to tha Double D...we meet again...

I'm hungry and the phone just rang. It was for my sister.
And they got these chewy preztels....

Ok, I'm gonna give out my stinkin' email, which is very cryptic, so that my legions of obsessed fans can't flood me with letters of love and lust, but I'm giving in. What can I say, I'm too good to my subjects. MaxHazen@Hotmail.com and its not at crapfacemackz anymore because that was over-run with those helpful letters which told me how I can procure photographs of beautiful "FUCKING HOT TEENAGE VIRGIN WHORES". Thanks Hollywoodsexwhoreswhowilldoanythingforyourlovin.com

So Todd, tell me, why is that you have to send me an email? Is it because you want to send me some horrible pictures. Are you from Hollywoodsexwhoreswhowilldoanythingforyourlovin.com? Or are you from the agency wink wink? That's right, I said "Wink Wink" instead of actually winking. It's what you do on the internet, which I like to call the the internet superhighway because that's what all the kids are calling it these days. My favourite is the picture of a guy LITERALLY SURFING on a wave of information. I'd love to meet the guy who came up with that...And shoot his kids. Ok, not shoot them, but maybe hit them really hard so that they cry a little bit and when he gets really angry and tries to hit me I just yell "WAIT!" and he stops to hear what I have to say. But instead of saying "See, I only hit your kids to show you how I felt when I saw the poster you designed" I hit one of his kids again, this time really hard, then I poke the other kid in the eye and run. Yeah, that's good.

My sister just saw me laughing at my own writing and called me a "conceited jerk"

Snoop Dogg calls himself conceited in one of his songs.

I'm like Snoop Dogg.

The spell checker wanted to change Pretzels into Priestly...Elvis Pretzel...I like that better.

Friday, January 02, 2004

11:43 Friday Night

Naturally, being alone on a Friday night is as deadly as I remember. This time I brought it on myself, so it's not nearly as bad. Writing this screenplay has taught me more about myself than anything, or anyone I can remember. I'm finding it terribly difficult because I'm playing with things that have always been sacred, or at least repressed. And now I have to state them and present them as facts that can easily be conveyed. Even simple things like the eye contact between two people on a streetcar, or the feeling you get when you get that classic "I'm so alone" feeling. They become so impossibly difficult to describe. I love it.

I'm lovin' it

I haven't eaten at a McDonalds in a long time.

I had no idea

Max Hazen: Ideal-18 Sailing Coordinator; Max has worked tirelessly on deck repairs and bottom preparation on our boats, all of which are in the water. It takes a special type of person to give their weekends and tech adults. Max is from Sands Point and is studying architecture at Tulane University. He has five years experience teaching sailing and wind surfing on two continents. Max has worked for Goetz custom yachts in Bristol, RI building custom boats.

His racing resume includes windsurfing, racing his own catamaran, Lasers, 420's, Vanguard 15's, on through big boats. He is now involved in college racing. He holds certification in CPR, first aid, and level -1 sailing instructor from US Sailing. He will be teaching, setting up races, and is the person to talk to with any questions or problems.

Who am I kidding?

Well, I only stopped writing the last entry because I thought that maybe it was a little wrong to be sitting here making money for doing absolutely nothing except complaining about the fact that I'm doing nothing. But then I realized, I have nothing to do. So I'm back.

So about a week or two ago, Mark and I head over to the local Goodwill, so that we can take the best cheap clothes from the people who need it. We hit the mother-load that day and I hauled in a giant bag full of actual fashion. Cool wit me.

So today, I have no clean clothes except for some fancy pants (Yes, I'm doing the fancy pants dance) and a Texaco shirt, an awesome shirt to be sure. Anyway, I walk into the office, and a higher-up sees me wearing this shirt and he says "Do you actually work at Texaco, or is that some sort of fashion statement?".


Yes...I work in an office in the day...then moonlight as a gas station attendant. I only sleep during my lunch break, and I wear my gas station uniform all day, cause I'm on call and in any minute there could be a gas station emergency.

Fuck you.

Who is this....Todd?

At work, on a Friday. I really wish it was a Friday without borders, like on Showcase. Well, it is kinda, only without the coarse language, violence, nudity, and sexuality (viewer discrection is advised).

So I saw the movie Big Fish last night, and balled my eyes out like a sissy little girl (viewer discrection was advised). Don't laugh so fast though, because I have never been to a movie and seen so many grown men cry in my life (Except that one time, oh what was that Movie called? Oh, that's right, "MVP2: Most Vertical Ape". That little Ape has more depth than you'd expect. I never tire of his screaming, slapping, and grinning maniacally in order to get himself psyched up to save little Jimmy by winning a skateboarding competition. Could Shakespeare throw feces? Huh? Well, could he throw it with pin-point accuracy is the question...That's right, I didn't think so).

But what did I learn? I hear you cry. Well, friends, I learned that I'm not yet so cold that I can't cry, and somehow that's pretty comforting. I also learned that if I replace the "O" in comfOrting with an "A" I get a very funny word.

In case you're wondering, no, I mean, well, I kind of have a job. Well, as that classic old tune goes: The System is Down. And it really is. So in the mean time, I'll tell you things about myself.

I'm 19, very, very, 19.
My favourite food is probably some sort of Pasta. Why this matters, and why it's always a question on those internet quizzes is something I'll never understand. Why in bloody hell would it matter what kind of food I like? Does this have some bearing on the strength of my character? If so, would it change things if I said that I like to eat Baby Brains because I think that they make me run faster? On another note; why did I capitalize Baby Brains? Like its a person, or maybe a brand of brains.
I have a friend who hates onions more than I hate Phil Collins. He likes Lychee fruit though, almost as much as I enjoy a good Baby Brain.
I have a friend who is tall, and can punch my hand until I don't like to call it a hand anymore because it brings back horrifying memories of my hand being beaten with his cheese grateresque hands. I now call it my prehensile swollen, throbbing, scabby flesh-stump.
I'm wearing fancy, un-ironed clothing because I forgot to put my clothes in the dryer last night.
I have heartburn and I like to tell people about it in a Jewish accent. "OI, this brisket is givin' me heartboyn".
A person that I work with knows about advertising. You can't show someone actually consuming alcohol in an ad.
I'm listening to spaced out techno at the moment, and I feel like I'm traveling through space. Impossibly fast and multi-coloured but calm, and in a really comfy chair. Oh...That's just my screen saver.
Girls are attracted to men who act like living, breathing assholes (Not to be mistaken with the guys who HAVE living, breathing assholes. We're a rare breed.)
It's the one universal constant that I actually understand. Apparently the assholes know about this too.

Dear Todd,

Hey...Who are you? I mean, I got nothin' against ya. But I mean, do you live in Toronto? How the hell did you find this thing? Are you an alien? Or the before-mentioned God? Is God an alien? And if so does he have a living, breathing asshole? It would explain a lot. You know, about the probing and such.

Anyway Todd, I gotta head off. Well, actually I don't, but I got no sleep, drank too much coffee, and I'm beginning to start saying things I might regret. "I find George Bush attractive" and the like. You know how it is.



P.S. Stupid Spell Checkers can suck my giant incorrect spellin' dick. Bitch.

P.P.S. Todd: You have sinned. We're both going to hell, and there ain't a damn thing we can do about it. Take it like a man...bitch. Sorry. I really like saying that.

I'm a big man now. Bitch.


Thursday, January 01, 2004

Banda-ges, Banda-ges, Banda-ges

Todd is God

2003, I still love you. I always Will.

So I spent New Years with some friends that, I swear, are some of the best people on the planet. There are so few of them out there, and I'm so lucky to have them. Everyone says that, I know but everyone is stupid so it really doesn't mean anything.

We went to a very strange party in some giant warehouse\studio space. Music was great, if not a little too dance-y but I was GONE anyway, so they could've played Phil Collins (that rat-bastard) and I would've wailed along with him. The problem was, and always has been that no matter how socially-trained we think we are (my friends and I that is), the High School mentality moves on. I can't escape it without desperate measures, and even then, it always has a hold on me. I'm not cool, I'm uptight, and there is no way in hell that girl wants anything to do with me.

Knowledge is power? Sometimes I question that.

The highlight of the night for me was when Matt was standing there with his beer. We were all kinda chillin', nervously looking around the room, feeling very uncomfortable when Matt decided he'd show us a little trick he'd come up with. Or maybe he was pointing at something, or maybe he just had some terrible arm spasm, but either way, he held up his beer, chest level for all to see. We seemed very interested in what he had to show us so we all sckooched closer when BAM! The clear plastic cup in Matt's hand EXPLODED throwing foam and golden, delicious, watered-down Tiger beer all over Matt, Dan, and I. This was too much for Dan who had ingested a lot of alcohol and the same amount of smokable fun.. "WHAT!?" He screamed. "WHAT!?" again and again. Over and over he spun around the room near tears. It was the night that Matt broke Dan for about 5 minutes.

Now I've heard several theories on just how and of course, WHY Matt had the cup explode in his hands at that exact moment. The first being that Matt, who is the Hulk, has trouble controlling his awesome cup-crushing strength and after he'd had a few...Bottles...Of rum on the street car before we'd even gotten to the place, his rage over the watered down beer took over until WHAM it all came flushing out in an angry cup-crushin'. Could be.

The alternate, more probable theory is that apart from being the Hulk, Matt is also an ultra-secret agent who has defected from the agency and is being hunted down so that he can't divulge some mind-destroying secret. Which may or may not be the fact that he's the Hulk, but anyway, the point is that when they stamped our hands at the door, they also scanned our fingerprints, and BINGO the Agency sends out its top agents with their giant sniper rifles and such. So Matt, with his hyper-sensitive hearing, and his James Bond luck happens to hear a trigger-squeezing from above and in a flash, raises his glass just so, sending the reflected light directly into the sight of the gun being fired at him. Match point Matt-Hulk.

I think I might write more about it later (Matt shows the world his Hulk-Puke by puking out a streetcar window), but I'm starting to fade and I gotta go see me Big Fish.

Post please. Cheers.

Wednesday, December 31, 2003

Feelin' kinda groovy, workin' on a movie

Well, I haven't found conclusion, and I guess thats something. I'm at work, its New Years eve, and I'm feelin' alright. I'm in another week of confusion, and this isn't "Whats your favourite movie?" kind of confusion, I'm talkin' "What do I want to do with my life? Can I take this chance?" kind of confusion. Which is alright to me, I can take it, keepin' it positive.

If I can survive by writing, then I have solved so many problems it looks like it may create more, ever-embrassing problems due to the rising crappage level in my pants.

Yeah Right.

Tuesday, December 30, 2003

What does it look like? Mad Skills

Its 10:56 my computer time, which when I look at real time, is wrong. I just got back from my first trip to Starbucks, which isn't so bad if you don't have to actually say what you want, and get a friend who hasn't thought that far yet to order for you. Mark and I wrote and wrote, then fought, then wrote and wrote, then talked to the two strange men who sat down directly in front of us. I didn't understand them but this much I know: They liked Obie Trice, the leafs, and Mark's computer. Oh and the Sultan of Brunei is apparently the richest man in the world, due to his smart gold investments. But I knew that already. The we wrote some more. Even if this thing doesn't work out, which isn't possible, I'm having a great time writing it. And its mercifully keeping my mind off the fact that nobody likes me. Well, I like me. And Joanne McCloud likes me. And Jesus, that guy LOVES me.

Or so I'm told.

Monday, December 29, 2003

Armed to the teeth

Back to work. But once again, the quittin' bugs got me.

QUITTIN' WOOO! Its time yet again, for something completely different. I need a little more excitement than hiding from a boss who already knows I'm not doing anything.

Something strange happened recently. I suddenly became passionate about something. I'm writing a screenplay, which of course you already know, and its hit me like some heavy ass bricks. I can't stop thinking about it, and I'd forgotten what that felt like. I'm kind of glad, and kind of depressed. ITS GREAT!

Oh well. What a boring post. I'm sorry.

Please post.

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