Stages of Evolution

I've come to realize many things about myself and the world around me.

I see the joy in Buddhism. Its partner in reason, Stoicism, is another companion in my journey.

All of life is suffering. Suffering comes from desire. Freeing myself from desire frees myself from suffering.

Man is not disturbed by things, but by the views he takes of things. I can make the choice to change my viewpoint.

As I struggle with a life change... I realize there is no struggle.

The Devil and his chariot of the apocalypse; Zuma Beach Triathletes

Sometimes in the Motion Picture Industry, one is forced to take jobs slightly outside their job description in an effort to stay busy and keep the bill collectors at bay. For this job, I agreed to come on and help set up an event in Malibu. 

"Triathlon."

"Triathlon" is when a large group of muscular men and women get together to talk about HGH, bar end plugs, and gawk at each others tribal tattoos. The dress code is minimal. The entrance requirements are bringing a bicycle valued more then their childrens' lives, a swim suit that prominently displays the labia (if applicable), penis (if applicable), and nipples (inclusive), and a set of Oakley sunglasses. The meeting place is a beach at about 5A where the goal is to stretch, grunt, and argue with volunteers; in this case the Valencia, CA Air Force Junior ROTC (holla'!) about bike placement, the quality of the free gift bags contents, and positioning of barricades. there is some kind of race involved, and I did see these folks covered with a sheen of sweat, but I couldn't tell with any degree of certainty what the hell many of these people did for two-to-six hours. I was distracted by looking for lost three year olds [found in a catering freezer], taking out mountains of trash, and avoiding the owner of the production company like typhoid feaver.


I can describe the madness of putting together a "Triathlon," but, I'd rather let the quotes and photos from the week craft the story of "Triathlon." More will come as I struggle to bring my mind home from the degenerate wasteland of Malibu. DD is a friend, DR is myself.

To Triathlete
DD: "That methamphetamine... woo WEEE!"

This picture was taken in a vendors' tent after they had set up, then left the beach. I was a little concerned.



Shouting at a roll-off dumpster, onlookers watching, concerned
DD: "I wanna stick it in your OTHER pussy."

Reaction to stink eye given to crew members by Sales Clerks in the Sponsor, Nautica's, tent
DD: "I'm going to take off this Nautica shirt, take a big shit on it, walk into their booth, put it on the table, then set it on fire."



While driving an offroad golf cart in reverse, not looking
DD: "Me and the Producers are gonna have a little talk about this whole thing (gestures in a circle) here..."
[Offroad golf cart backs into an ornamental rental fence in the Childrens' Area, destroying the fence]
DD: [To fence] "What?"

At about hour 10 on day 5, things began to slip. The banana was added to provide sorely needed direction, but had a tendency to rock violently while driving the off road cart on the beach. Mr. D (left) observed, "this is the angriest banana I've ever seen."


Regarding the Producers' lack of organizational or management skills and a proper response to these deficits
DR: "Pretend this is like Vietnam. NO rules, do what you want, make that necklace of ears."
DD: "Can I make a codpiece of ears? That's what I want!"

In order to cope with this job, certain medications were administered by trained professionals on staff.

Reactions to seeing the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon walking with her kid sister down the Zuma Beach pedestrian walkway.
DD: "She totally know's you're looking at you."
DR: "That's because we backed up [the golf cart], parked right next to her, and we stared at her as she walked by."
DD: "Yeah, DADDY LIKE."

Reaction to visiting the North end of Zuma Beach
DR: "this must be the FAT side of the beach."
DR: "Aww, that kid has Down Syndrome; now I feel like an asshole."
DD:"Shhhh."
[Driving by gaggle of large individuals lounging on towels]
DR: "Oh, no wait, it doesn't look like he does; he was just squinting."


Crew members greeting eachother
"(insert full name), you old cocksucker, how's your mamma?"


To two 14 year old Junior ROTC cadets at 5A
DR: "Hey, what's with the camo pants? Are you guys from the local boot camp on a field trip?"
Child: "No, we're from Valencia. We're in the Junior ROTC."
DR: "Oh. I fell in love with a girl from Valencia..."
[Pause]
       "but that was a long time ago..."
[Looking vacant at the children]
        "Uh, gotta go..."
[scretching off with off road golf cart]



Looking at triathletes walking by
DR: "What the hell do these people do for a living? I mean, GNC must have a limit on sales clerk positions they need to fill each year."


DD: "Sounds like pussy bloodfarts."


DR: "I have never heard the term electrolyte this many times in my life as I've heard "electrolyte' today."


Now, to wrap myself in a blanket, draw the shades, and continue to sip from my little jigger of scotch as I reconcile an mind painfully warped by incompetence, sunstroke, and five days without a proper shave. Stay away from the compound; visitors are not welcome tonight.

Santa Seen in September... the reasons are chilling

It's a cool night in Los Angeles after weeks of record temperatures. The sky has finally wretched out much of the smoke from the Station Fire. Perhaps we've all used our lungs as a collective of filters to clear the foul smoke filled air from the sky. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Why have I started this blog? Yes, why indeed.

I just received a message from a friend on the road. She claims to have seen santa while on the road to Monterey. He's early this year. Is this to be taken as an omen? Has Santa taken to reconoitering early this year? Maybe the FAA has finally clamped down on him. He's taken to hitchhiking, unable to certify his sled for flight, maybe behind on his sled payments. It was dragged out of his driveway by black towtrucks at gunpoint, on orders of the bank. His house, the village, may be next. No, he thumbs it now, from city to city, forced to chat with the driver just long enough to ensure he knows that the man commenderring the passenger seat, while dressed funny, is harmless. The process is repeated over and over again until the map is traversed. When Christmas time rolls around, be generous with your rides people, this is a man on a mission, and it does us all well to pull over and help him get his sack into the trunk.

The claims of economic turnaround may have been premature. The Santa index is grim. Am I reading too much into this? Santa, like many others around town, are losing their homes on the heels of their livelihood. I hope he does the honorable thing and shoot all the windows out of the village and set off a small firebomb in the living room before slamming the door shut on the mailbox that contains "FINAL NOTICE's" and the house keys. The bank doesn't want the village, but they must take it. So, fuck it, the misers get what they deserve; a burned out hulk, that costs more money to bulldoze than it's worth. This is how we save our souls, how we fight back. I'm with you Santa. I'm with the Santa soliderity front.

If I was an elf, I'd be contemplating a new profession... maybe movie extra work, or crawlspace maintenance. They had better stay the fuck away from this place. I have cats, I don't need more things to trip over. And certainly not dressed as a candystriping Robin Hood. With the contempt the cats treat the full sized people at the compound, I wonder what the reaction would be to an overly-helpful, overly-cheerful dwarf trying to scratch Hercules' belly? The results would be bloody. 

Why am I blogging? Hell knows. We'll find out, won't we?