Keys.

Would you believe me if I told you that the reason I haven’t posted here in months is because some of the keys on my laptop have started working only intermittently?

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Bad Blogger. Bad.

There comes a time in the life of every blogger when he/she is sitting around the apartment and is suddenly and from seemingly nowhere shocked – SHOCKED I SAY -  by the realization that he/she has completely forgotten that he/she has a blog!

That happened to me just recently.

I know, I am a terrible blogger.

But in my defense, I have been VERY BUSY! True story. Here now I shall make a list for you of all the things I have been doing in addition to neglecting this here blog:

- I discovered that Tostitos makes tortilla chips that are THEMSELVES made of cheese!  I think that this is at least as important of a discovery as anything Marie Curie found.

- Forgot the exact day of my father’s birthday.

- Bought a map online.

- As all LA-based, camera-owning hipsters must, I ditched work one day and went to the Getty.

- Said out loud: “Antiques Roadshow is always good.”

- I visited home and visited what once would have been my birthright (a now ghost town of a dairy three miles outside of “town”.)

- Basically saved the lives of some Swiss people (more on that later).

- Watched “Winnie the Pooh” to make myself feel better on a bad day.

- Failed THREE TIMES to watch Guy Ritchie’s “Sherlock Holmes” on TV.

- Got deleted off Facebook by someone I cared a lot about.

- Stayed in four different hotels in two weeks (I love hotels!)

- Saw The Black Keys live.

- Ate at Long John Silver’s.

- Absolutely did not go to a strip club in Bakersfield. Absolutely. Did. Not.

- Had yet another birthday.

- Saw a bear!

- Successfully did not get eaten by a bear.

- Spent awesome adventure time in the Sequoias (more on that later [but look! Down there at the bottom of this picture, that's ME!]).

- Ate donuts.

- Had two separate sets of pink ear buds devoured by The Kitten.

- Paid twenty bucks for an omelet (and it didn’t even have gold or diamonds in it or noth’en!)

- Bought a new black tie.

- Worked, a lot. A whole lot.

- Took a picture of myself.

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Man at The Getty.

 This is an interesting fellow I met at The Getty.

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Tree.

Tree

by james bezerra

It would quite please me

to one day be a tree.

Not quite just yet though.

I still have some small glow

of youth yet to burn;

some glimmer still of hope - or naivety -

that there waits a life of contentment  for me.

If I’m right, then I just might enjoy spending

my golden oak years remembering

what a happy life I had.

But if it turns out that I am wrong

and all these last youth years have gone

unremarked upon by success of happiness,

then I will spend my willow years contemplating

what a tragic waste all of this has been.

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James Bezerra on Google.

I recently discovered that my Google hold on the name “James Bezerra” has slipped a little bit since I have not posted in like two months. To which I would like to say:

James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,   James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra is awesome, James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  James Bezerra, James Bezerra, James Bezerra on Google, James Bezerra is awesome, Jamie Bezerra, James Bezerra,  

The Heart Below.

Below is an old story that I have been thinking about a lot lately. I am considering monkey-ing around with it (or something like it) for next month’s impending NaNoWriMo.

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Black Market Heart by james bezerra

Black Market Heart
By James Bezerra


I have always wanted to be in love. The real kind of love, the kind that burns. The kind that eats you like acid and changes you. The kind of love that is bigger than the sun. The kind of love that you kill for, the kind of love that you do anything for. I have always thought that I would be good at that kind of love.


INTERIOR. HOSPITAL. DAY.

A long hospital hallway. Ground floor. Double doors at the end. The doors open and three men enter dressed as doctors, white coats flapping as they walk briskly. JACKSON leads them. In close up his coat flaps back and we see there is a squarish Glock 18 handgun in a nylon holster on his hip. He carefully pulls his coat closed. Buttons it at the waist. Behind him, BINGO and KRILL. KRILL is muy flaco. BINGO is thick and wearing a big backpack.

The three of them get into an elevator. An orderly steps in behind them. They shove him out. The doors close. 

The doors open on the fifth floor and BINGO steps out. A sign on the wall lists the departments on the fifth floor. Close on one of them: SECURITY.

JACKSON and KRILL continue to the seventh floor where JACKSON steps out. A sign on the wall reads: SURGERY.

In the elevator - alone - KRILL presses the button for the roof.


EXTERIOR. HOSPITAL HELIPAD. DAY (Continuous).

A slim and modern MEDEVAC helicopter is coming in to land on the roof of the hospital. It looks like a locust as its gear hatches from its metal belly.


INTERIOR. HOSPITAL SURGERY WARD. DAY. (Continuous)

JACKSON is striding down another hallway. Close on his face, his jaw is tight, his eyes are focused. He is a man on a mission. Close on the badge clipped to his jacket. The badge has a picture of RICK on it.


*** FOUR HOURS AGO ***

EXTERIOR. AN UPPER WEST SIDE NEW YORK CITY STREET. DAY.

A fit young woman, CARRIE, is riding a bicycle down the street. She is riding too fast. She shoots toward an intersection. The light changes but she goes for it and is quite suddenly hit broadside by a speeding taxi.

CUT TO:
Screaming/Sirens/INTERIOR of an ambulance/Siren (Continuous)/Gurney jerked from ambulance/INTERIOR of the Emergency Room/Shouting/Dirty ceiling tiles rush by overhead/INTERIOR chaotic surgery room/CARRIE has a massive head wound/Close on the doctor. He shakes his head and pulls his gloves off as he walks away.


*** THREE HOURS AGO ***

INTERIOR. HOSPITAL. DAY.

RICK is a young resident. He puts a telephone to his ear and dials. He is trying to be sly but looks nervous. He is subtly comparing a handwritten note to a patient chart.


INTERIOR. AN APARTMENT IN ALPHABET CITY. DAY(Continuous).

A smooth and perfectly black cell phone sits on a square black coffee table in front of a red leather sofa. The flat screen lights up with a photo of RICK. A hand grabs the phone. It is JACKSON’s hand. The hand moves the phone to JACKSON’s ear as he thumbs the button to answer.

RICK
I think I have one for you.


*** TWO HOURS AGO ***

EXTERIOR. A MEDICAL UNIFORM SUPPLY STORE. DAY.

KRILL walks out of the store with two full bags.


EXTERIOR. LENOX AVENUE, HARLEM. DAY.

BINGO is walking briskly down the street. He is carrying his heavy backpack in his right hand. He has to stop at a red light. A bum named FERG sits on the curb, shakes a dirty Yankees cap at BINGO. Coins in the hat jingle. BINGO grins at the bum. The light changes to green. BINGO reaches into the bag, flips a switch and the coins fly out of the bum’s hat and stick to the backpack. The BUM screams. BINGO flips him off, but doesn’t look back.


INTERIOR. THE APARTMENT IN ALPHABET CITY (Same). DAY (Continuous).

JACKSON sits on the red leather sofa, the square black coffee table is in front on him. On the table: the phone, a bottle of water, a squarish Glock 18, an open box of 9mm ammunition. He is calmly loading rounds into the clip. This makes a clicking noise that he likes. From behind him, PENNY enters the room. She is too skinny, sunlight flows through her thin hair a little too easily, but otherwise one would barely know that she is sick. But JACKSON knows.

PENNY looks at the gun, concerned.

JACKSON smiles at her. He blows her a kiss.


*** 60 MINUTES AGO ***

INTERIOR. A SUBWAY CAR. DAY.

JACKSON, KRILL and BINGO sit next to each other as the train rumbles. They are all dressed as doctors


*** 10 MINUTES AGO ***

EXTERIOR. THE HOSPITAL. DAY.

RICK walks out a staff exit. He lights a cigarette as he crosses the street. He walks fast as he rounds a corner and then into the alley where JACKSON, KRILL and BINGO are waiting.

JACKSON tosses RICK a roll of money, which RICK catches in the air. RICK hands over his identification badge and security card.

JACKSON
Where do you want it?

RICK
In the face I guess. Makes it look real.

BINGO steps forward and punches RICK hard across the face. RICK goes over on the ground, blood sputtering out of his mouth.

JACKSON
Sorry about that. Would you put your wrists and ankles together please?

RICK does and they zip-tie his wrists and ankles.


When I met her two years ago, you wouldn’t have known that she was sick, because she isn’t exactly sick. They say that it isn’t exactly a sickness. The heart is a muscle after all, it is supposed to get stronger. But hers is withering. With every single beat it gets weaker, the tissue becomes a little thinner, a little more frayed. Every minute of her life kills her a little bit.

When I decided that I loved her, I also decided that I would find a way to fix her. 

Her heart really was broken. How perfect a thing to fix was that?


*** TWO YEARS AGO***

PENNY
They can’t put me on the transplant list because I’m not as severe as other people.

JACKSON
Will they ever put you on the list?

PENNY
I would probably have to die first.

JACKSON
So you’re not actually severe until the very moment when your heart stops?

PENNY
That’s about it.

JACKSON
What about an artificial heart?

PENNY
They don’t think my body would accept it. Because my system is too weakened.

JACKSON
So you’re just supposed to wait to die?

PENNY
That’s basically what everyone who has ever been alive has done. They call it 'life'.


*** RIGHT NOW ***

INTERIOR. HOSPITAL (Same). DAY (Continuous).

SEVETH FLOOR: JACKSON is dressing into a surgical gown and gloves. He peeks into a chaotic surgery room where organs are being removed from CARRIE’s still-warm body. JACKSON pulls a surgical mask over his face and backs in through the door.


FIFTH FLOOR: BINGO knocks on a door labeled SECURITY STATION. He knocks fast and over and over. Finally the door opens and a security guard named DION pokes his head out.

DION
What?

BINGO quickly presses a nasty little hand-held tazer into the DION’s gut and forces him back into the room, kicking the door closed behind them. The tazer is loud and the man is yelling. BINGO pushes him to the floor. Inside the room, another guard - this one named ROBERT - is eating a BUDGET GOURMET microwavable dinner. His heavy leather belt and holster are on the table next to him. ROBERT goes for the gun but BINGO aims a pistol-shaped tazer and shoots. Sparking metal snakes stick into ROBERT’s chest and he goes over onto the floor. 

BINGO quickly he zip-ties and gags them both.


THE ROOF: On the Roof of the hospital KRILL is watching the MEDEVAC helicopter land. His coat blowing around him in the down-draft. The helicopter touches down on its skinny insect legs and KRILL jogs over to it half bent down. He peeks in the back to see that it is empty. He darts around to the nose and opens a little metal flap and starts to disconnect something. The PILOT watches curiously from inside the helicopter.

KRILL comes around and knocks on the THE PILOT’s window. THE PILOT opens it.

THE PILOT
What the hell were you doing?

KRILL
Disconnecting your radio.

KRILL pulls a thin Beretta 92F from his pocket and points it at the PILOT’s face.


SEVETH FLOOR: The surgery room is packed. Different teams of surgeons are harvesting different organs from CARRIE’s body. The organs are placed in hard plastic coolers and the coolers are placed in padded insulated bags for transport. One team is working on the heart. JACKSON is stranding in the corner, unnoticed. 

The surgical team snips away the veins and arteries from around CARRIE’s still-beating heart.


FIFTH FLOOR: BINGO is in the hospital surveillance room. It is all surveillance monitors and computers. He sets down, and unzips, the backpack. He lifts out of it a large industrial magnet and battery. He flips it on and paper clips fly across the room toward him. He passes the buzzing magnet across the bank of servers recording all of the security video. The monitors flicker out as the servers sizzle out. 

BINGO puts the magnet back in the bag. He walks calmly past DION and ROBERT on the floor. 


*** ONE YEAR AGO ***

INTERIOR. THE APARTMENT IN ALPHABET CITY. NIGHT.

PENNY
I am not going to buy someone’s heart. I won’t do it.

JACKSON
It’s a solution.

PENNY
Where are you thinking that you can get a heart from anyway?

JACKSON
I found a guy who can get us one.

PENNY
He can get us a human heart? Where is this guy?

JACKSON
Mexico.

PENNY
You found a guy in Mexico who can says that he can get us a compatable human heart?

JACKSON
Yes.

PENNY
How exactly is he going to do that?

JACKSON
I don’t want to ask because I don’t want to know.

PENNY
I’m not doing it.

JACKSON
Well then what the hell are we supposed to do?


*** RIGHT NOW ***

INTERIOR. HOSPITAL (Same). DAY (Continuous).

SEVETH FLOOR: The heart is lifted out of CARRIE”S dissected chest cavity. It is carefully placed into a cooler. The cooler is carefully placed into a padded red bag.

THE SURGEON
Okay, let’s go.

THE SURGEON strips off his gloves and mask and gown and moves out into the hallway. His small team of doctors trail after him. One of them is carrying the padded red bag. JACKSON doesn’t take his mask off. He crowds into the elevator with them, they are all too excited to notice. THE SURGEON is on his cell phone.

THE SURGEON
We just got it. We are in the elevator so I might lose you. What? Yeah, it went great. We are on our way to the MEDEVAC. What? Yeah no, it is a great looking heart.

In the packed elevator JACKSON is able to snake his hand into the pouch on the side of the insulated red bag. He carefully pulls the little GPS transponder out of the bag.


*** ONE WEEK FROM NOW ***

EXTERIOR. MEXICO CITY. DAY

JACKSON walks up to a newsstand and buys a copy of the New York Times. He tosses most of it into a trash drum on the street corner and flips through it until he finds an article titled: FBI and NYPD still searching for Heart Thieves.


*** RIGHT NOW ***

INTERIOR. HOSPITAL ELEVATOR (Same). DAY (Continuous).

The elevator arrives at the roof. It dings. The doors open. BINGO is there. He has a short and ugly Ruger Speed-Six revolver in his hand and he is wearing a black ski mask.

JACKSON smoothly pulls out his Glock and holds it up for everyone to see. 

JACKSON
Everyone look at me please. This is a gun. It is loaded. No screaming please. We do not have a lot of time. I need all of you to put your wrists together.

BINGO demonstrates, while still keeping the gun pointed into the elevator.

BINGO
Like this.

JACKSON zip-ties each set of wrists and then gently pushes them out of the elevator.


*** 26 MINUTES FROM NOW ***

INTERIOR. A WAREHOUSE IN JERSEY CITY. DAY (Continuous).

In the center of the warehouse there is a makeshift clean room. Sealed plastic tarps dangle from the ceiling. In the center of the clean room there is a surgical table. PENNY is laying on it, naked and already anesthetized.

JACKSON
Look Doc, you’re going to do this for two reasons. The first: you’re a world-class heart surgeon, you have your own world-class team here with you and there is a woman in there who needs a heart transplant. The second: If you don’t, I will murder you until you are quite simply dead.


*** RIGHT NOW ***

EXTERIOR. THE HOSPITAL HELIPAD. DAY (Continuous).

BINGO and JACKSON lead THE SURGEON and his zip-tied team across the roof toward the helicopter. KRILL is still standing at THE PILOT’s window, Beretta still at the ready.

BINGO pats down THE SURGEON and takes the cell phone and keys and everything else and then he loads THE SURGEON up into the helicopter. BINGO does this to each of them while JACKSON keeps his Glock calmly aimed.

When the last of them is inside, JACKSON climbs inside himself. He has the insulated red bag in his lap. He looks at the terrified team of surgeons.

JACKSON
Relax. You are all going to be fine. No body is going to get hurt. Don’t think of this as a kidnapping, think of it as a character building exercise. You are all - now - the most interesting people that any of you know.


*** TWELVE HOURS FROM NOW ***

INTERIOR. THE WAREHOUSE IN JERSEY CITY (Same). NIGHT.

THE SURGEON exits the clean room and walks to JACKSON, who is sitting in the only chair in the warehouse.

THE SURGEON
Okay. It’s done.

JACKSON
Tell me how it went.

THE SURGEON
It went smoothly, all things considered. But her recovery is going to be lengthy and difficult.

JACKSON
I have worked that out.

THE SURGERON
Is she going to have to travel?

JACKSON
I will worry about that.

THE SURGEON
I’m asking because I’m a doctor.

JACKSON
I’m not telling you because you’re also a witness.


*** RIGHT NOW ***

EXTERIOR. THE HOSPITAL HELIPAD (Same). DAY (Continuous).

BINGO puts all of the cellphones and keys and the GPS transponder into a plastic bag. He hands the plastic bag to KRILL then circles around the helicopter and climbs in next to THE PILOT. 

BINGO
I’m a nice man. Do what I say and everybody will be okay.

KRILL backs away from the helicopter as it begins to lift slowly up into the air. Its skinny legs fold up and back inside its thorax. The nose of the helicopter moves left and points off toward Jersey City.

KRILL watches it dart off and then heads to the elevator. He rides it all the way down. He exits the hospital. On the street he ditches the plastic bag in a trash can.


*** ONE YEAR FROM NOW ***

INTERIOR. A BEDROOM IN THE CATEDAL DISTRITOS OF SAN JOSE, COASTA RICA. NIGHT.

PENNY and JACKSON are in bed. The room is completely dark.

PENNY
Sometimes, when I’m laying here, when I can feel it beating, I think about where it was supposed to be. Whose body is it supposed to be in. What happened to that person? Did she live? Did she die while she was there on the table waiting for it? Did I kill her?

JACKSON
No.

PENNY
Do you ever think about that?

JACKSON
No.

PENNY
Why not? How can you not?

JACKSON
Because I love you. And loving you means that I don’t have to care about anyone who isn’t you.

PENNY
Is that love? Is that really what love is?

JACKSON
Yes.

PENNY
I’m not sure if you love me, or if you love that you fixed me.

JACKSON
I fixed you because I love you.

PENNY
That’s a completely fucked up thing to say.


*** 16 MONTHS FROM NOW ***

INTERIOR. JUAN SANTAMARIA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, SAN JUAN COASTA RICA. MORNING.

PENNY
One ticket, one-way to New York. Any airport. Whatever leaves soonest.


*** RIGHT NOW ***

INTERIOR. HELICOPTER (Same). DAY (Continuous).

JACKSON peeks out the window of the helicopter as the Hudson River slips by below. He smiles and thinks of PENNY. He closes his eyes for just a moment. Beneath the thumping of the rotor blades and the palpable fear of the doctors, he can feel his own heart beating. He clutches the insulated red bag tightly. He imagines that inside of it he can feel PENNY’s heart beating too.


I have always wanted to be in love. The real kind of love that burns. The kind that eats you like acid and changes you. The kind of love that is bigger than the sun. The kind of love you kill for, the kind of love that you do anything for. I have always thought that I would be good at that kind of love.



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Love Numbers.

Sadly I have no one to send this to, so I am just posting it here and maybe you can send it to someone!

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Plastic.

Right now I am reading a collection of poems called “Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty” by a very smart and funny poet named Tony Hoagland, whom I have never heard of before.

I was reading right along and he has a poem titled “Plastic” which is about plastic. He says amazing things like:

You could mull over the ethics of enslaving matter/even while feeling admiration for the genius it takes/to persuade a molecule to become part of a casserole container.

But then I was stopped dead in my tracks by a few lines which very nearly could have been about a fight I vividly remember having last year. He writes this:

- Or in another case, the blue polyethylene water bottle/sitting on a table in the park on Saturday/between two people having a talk about their relationship/- which I could tell was probably near its end/since the various lubrications/usually coating the human voice/were all worn away, leaving just the rough, gritty surfaces/of need and fear/exposing and rubbing on each other.

I mean, wow.

It just reminded me of how good and beautiful and honest good writing can be. It has been awhile since I have been able to write that way, but I am going to re-devote myself to it. I need to, for me, and also so that I will have something to talk to Mister Hoagland about should I ever meet him in an airport bar.

Also – and this is how good this guy is – he followed the passage above with this one below:

I wonder if it would have done any good then/if I had walked over and explained to them/about Plastic?/About how much easier it is to stretch than/human nature

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Food Court.

I submit to you that the atomic bomb and the food court are the two most American inventions that will ever be.

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Volcano.

I hate to run a blog that just reposts random crap that can be found elsewhere, but my rule has always been that when it is something that means something to me, then I can repost it here. Sort of like the way Clint Eastwood endorsed Mitt Romney today; sure it was both a poorly thought-out decision and a poorly timed one (who will give half a shit three months from now what Clint thought?), but there is some actual fiber of character involved and that should be noted, even if it isn’t worth bothering to respect.

Wow. Look how I digressed there! Point is, this below is one of the best songs that ever was or will be and my Pandora (with whom I have a very imtimate relationship) just played it for me, and so I wanted to put it out there for you. I can’t think of another song that is both this sexy and this sad all at once.

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The Editors here at Standardkink Suggested.

Below is an old post. From almost a year ago. The Editors here at Standardkink suggested that I repost it because reading it always makes me feel better about Life, the Universe and Everything. And I always take the advice of the Editors here at Standardkink because they are very smart people.

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Reblogged.

From time to time I re-fall in love with life. I just had one of those profound moments of reflection.

Alfred Hitchcock said, “Drama is life with the dull parts taken out.”

Well I agree that 70 – 80% of life is tedium and monotony, but that other 30 – 20% is pure wonderfulness.

I realized that I have been to New York and Boston. I have been to London and St. Louis, Paris, Orlando, and I have eaten fried chicken in Philadelphia with my grandmother (whom I miss dearly). I have had sangria on the roof of the Met (one of my favorite places in the world) and I have watched the sky turn green in Ozark Missouri before a thunder storm. I’ve been to Branson and Las Vegas. I have stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower and at the top of the fake one at the Paris Casino. I have been thrown out of bars in San Francisco and loaned my jacket to a naked stripper in Fresno, who was trying to catch some ZZZs on the couch. I have been lucky enough to fall in love and unlucky enough to get stranded at Heathrow for two days. I’ve had fish thrown over my head at Pike’s Place Market in Seattle and I have stumbled ass backward into fist fights in Sun Valley. I personally discovered that the snow in Park City Utah is nature’s best beer cozy and also have experienced a couple of sublimely perfect days in Salt Lake City; there’s nothing quite as perfect as being in love in the cold. I have smoked cigarettes in San Diego while listening to Nada Surf live while landing jets passed overhead. I’ve driven a rented Vauxhall (on the wrong side of the road) all the way to Stonehenge and walked the world’s best museum in Shelburne Vermont. I have nearly died on a kayak off the coast of Catalina and I have been deliriously in love on 17-Mile-Drive around Pebble Beach. I have straddled the Prime Meridian and the US-Mexico border; for that matter I have flown a kite under a pier on a Mexican beach and personally haggled over the price of a lobster dinner. I have watched a Minute Man III missile launch from Vanderburgh before the sun had come up and I have stood on the flight deck of an operational aircraft carrier, with Tchaikovsky blaring in my headphones. I have known more amazing women than is fair and I have been lucky enough to love some of them and to be loved in return. I have unhooked corsets in dark rooms and made love on a bare stage (empty audience). I have been found guilty in court of a misdemeanor and I have cried in front of more than one therapist. I have fallen in love with the Brooklyn Bridge and been terrified by the Coronado Bridge. And next week I will go white water rafting on the Sacramento River and the week after I will hike into the Grand Canyon and then ride a helicopter out of it. There is no end to the things that I love about life, and while life never seems easy at the time, it is simply and always worth the effort.  

From time to time I re-fall in love with life.  

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Turtleneck.

This is neither here nor there, but I cannot remember the last time that I wore a turtleneck.

This is both a good, and wise thing. I am short and have inherited poor genetics that guarantee me a supple and fleshy chin and neck. So the turtleneck look is no good for me.

However, I like a simple, classic style enough to appreciate that the turtleneck can be a good look … if you’re really good looking.

That’s all I really had to say about that.

(P.S.: Sorry folks, not all of these posts can be winners.)

(P.P.S.: You try consistently generating original content on a regular basis, then complain about that time I posted about turtlenecks. Just saying.)

(P.P.P.S.: Dude, how fucking dreamy are Matt Bomer’s blue eyes? That fucker.)

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Soundtracked.

This song has been in my head all day. I think that is probably a good sign. The parts of my life when I feel good and pretty cool are usually soundtracked by The Editors.

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Commies.

I came across this today:

When I feed the hungry, they call me a saint. When I ask why people are hungry, the call me a communist.

 Helder Camara, Archbishop of Olinda (1909-1999) 



Sing it brother.
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PostSecret.

PostSecret still, and always, the best thing on the internets.

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Salty History.

I just started reading the exact sort of book that I like. It is called “Salt” written by the very talented Mister Mark Kurlansky. It is actually called, “Salt; A World History” and it is about salt. Until about a hundred or so years ago people did not know that salt could be found LITERALLY everywhere, so there were great and busy efforts made to control the small known supplies of this life-sustaining stuff that also made our food taste better.

Well I am only about fifty pages in, but I was reading those fifty pages just now while eating lunch at the local Mexican place and drinking a margarita, so I now feel that I am qualified to give an entire college lecture about the history of salt. I will spare you this lecture, but would like to recount one story that I just read that (while seemingly unrelated to salt) is very, very funny.

The ancient Chinese empire first learned of the Romans (and by extension, the entire Western world) around 139B.C..  The Chinese emperor Wudi had sent an envoy called Zhang Qian off to the mysterious west in order to find allies. Well it took Zhang about six years but finally he reached an outlying Roman outpost in modern Turkistan. Well Zhang got all freaked out at what a fairly advanced civilization he found there. So he rushed home (it took him another 6 years to get back) and reported that an advanced civilization existed out west. Well an army was dispatched to conquer this newly discovered threat on the western front (took them another 6 years to get there, because apparently Odysseus was the most talented navigator of the ancient world and it took HIM ten years to sail from Turkey to Greece [sorry, that is a bitter jab that no one will ever get unless they are 1) an English major and 2) remotely familiar with the geography of the Mediterranean {which no English majors are}]).

So this Chinese army arrives in Turkistan around 102 B.C. and defeats the Roman outpost, then hangs out for a couple years, defeats the outpost again and then heads home (takes another 6 years to get back because they don’t have GPS) and then triumphantly announce that they have conquered the Roman Empire, because as far as they knew, they had.

Well in the intervening couple of decades between when the Chinese learned of Rome and when they “conquered” Rome, the actual Roman Empire had fallen to Germanic invaders, so into the modern era, there were descendants of the Wudi emperor who believed that they had – in point of fact – conquered Rome, never having known that Rome was an actual place a few hundred miles further west than their army had ever gone.

And I think that is funny.

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A Picture with Text on It Does Not Constitute a Meme.

A Picture with Text on It Does Not Constitute a Meme

by james bezerra

Our cricket team

has birthed an internet meme

because our star player of cricket

is the Ewok Wicket,

and who can resist pasting flippant text over

the face of such an iconic player?

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Resigned to My Fate.

Resigned to My Fate

by james bezerra

I’m just fine

working in this coal mine.

Sure it is outrageously unhealthy

and my breathing is painful and rather phlemy,

but at least I’ll die in a short time!

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The Ladies Do Not Love My Yacht.

The Ladies Do Not Love My Yacht

by james bezerra

So when I was hitting on you

and I said I had a boat

I kind of already knew

that you assumed I meant one that would float …

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Sad Stories.

Sad Stories

by james bezerra

(After Patrick Park “Here We Are”)

I tell so many sad stories

that I have forgotten

how to listen

to sad stories that

aren’t mine.

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Yes, My Cat is Overweight, I Know.

Yes, My Cat is Overweight, I Know

by james bezerra

Regrettably, my veterinarian

thinks himself a comedian.

When I showed him my cat

he said, “What is that?”

And I replied, “Sir this is my feline.”

To which he exclaimed, “I think it is actually a bovine!”

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Why I Can Never Get a Second Date.

Why I Can Never Get a Second Date

by james bezerra

I’ll ask you to close your eyes

and I’ll sweetly kiss you on the nose,

while I quietly remove my clothes.

and then you’re in for a surprise!

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Music and Movies and SAT Problems.

This is how I know I hang out with like-minded people:

A friend of mine recently posed a question: Name the actor who is the equivalent of The Eagles. That is to say: who is highly esteemed due to a couple of large commercial successes, but whose career is otherwise lackluster in terms of actual quality.

To which I instantly replied, “Kevin Costner!”

And, of course, I was correct.

This has become a fun game that I like to play in my head, adding gradients and qualifiers to each new equivalent. Though the basic SAT question remains the same:

_____ is to music as _____ is to film.

For instance, I would suggest that: U2 is to music as Tom Cruise is to film.

Hugely iconic, with an inarguably popularly successful early career followed by later forays into bland, self-congratulatory “serious” work, and only ever any good anymore when not taking themselves quite so seriously.

You can argue with me about this one if you want (because it is a little more inside-baseball):

Green Day is to music as Spike Jonze is to film.

Meteorically famous as sub-culture outsider(s) whose talent developed over time and was allowed to do so because of a large popular fan base and whose later work (though mistakenly seen by some as “selling out”) is actually a maturation of the artist(s).

Steve Martin is to music as Eminem is to film.

Surprisingly good when given the chance, but he wouldn’t have gotten famous this way.

Norah Jones is to music as Anne Hathaway is to film.

Totally pleasant but otherwise irrelevant.

Kanye West is to music as Quentin Taratino is to film.

Hugely talented, but in desperate need of artistic parental supervision.

Liz Phair to music as Ice T is to film.

If the old you could see the new you, the old you would totally kick your ass.

Dave Navarro is to music as Bill Paxton is to film.

Somehow always in the right place at the right time to benefit from other people’s skill.

The Butthole Surfers are to music as Crispin Glover is to film.

You have sorta heard of them even though it is clear they don’t give a shit what you think.

Maroon 5 is to music as Ryan Gosling is to film.

You have to begrudgingly admit that there is real talent there, even though it kills you to say so.

Nickelback is to music as Brett Ratner is to film.

Their commercial success shakes your faith in humanity.

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