five deadly everythings...

The Morning After

and so they all washed away
like hungover memories
the day after a birthday smash
in the cold water tsunami sink
faces splashed and tears dried
surfing onto beached whale groaning elephants
in the corners of everywhere
with nothing really forgotten
with memory and bodies stained rotten.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:37:00 p.m. | Permalink

Guess what my favorite gift was.

My mom was going bananas handing out the presents and I swear to god, she gets crazier every year. Salem was running around sniffing everything, thinking every present and every scrap of paper was hers. My mom was laughing and calling her crazy, but really, they're both so similar to each other. It's often said that people resemble their pets but it gets kinda ridiculous with my mom and my dog. They've somehow become one another; neither one the same as they used to be. They've created some other, third personality, that they co-own like some married couple sharing a bland car that reflects neither separate person.

I got some real dope gifts this year. My sister got me the Shoryuken t-shirt and Al Green's Greatest Hits CD. I'll be attempting an approximation of falsetto singing for the next while, so all those within earshot, my apologies. I got some sweaters from my parents, plus the requisite bag of white socks (always welcome). The Bane of My Existence, my infinitely talented cousin Jay, gave me a framed print of some of his photography. And my tito/tita hit with some well needed cash.

My girlfriend got me the first season of Gargoyles, which I think cements herself as the coolest thing in the world since, well, the first season of Gargoyles. Went to her house on Christmas Day for dinner, and seriously, her mom is the best cook in the world since...the first season of Gargoyles?

Went out for lunch with Chris Sol. and Mike Man. Haven't seen either in some time, so it was cool to catch up with them. Me and Chris both got the steak, and Mike got the ribs. Chris had done some crazy Boxing Day shopping, droppin something hundred brown notes at the Gap alone. Like. Damn.

Mike tho likes to drop bombs into conversations as if he were dropping cotton balls, so it was only a mild surprise when he casually said "Hey? Who wants to go to Mexico this summer? Cuz me and Pris might be getting married there."

MARRIAGE! That'll be a whole separate blog on another date. But forreal, it seems like everyone's talking about it nowadays. Am I really that old now? Like, shit. I feel like I haven't aged since, well, the first season of Gargoyles.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:59:00 a.m. | Permalink

So It's Here

The White Christmas. Didn't look like it was going to happen, but yesterday God dealt crack to the streets, and the streets is running white with it. All the houses on my block are sporting styrofoam dunce caps. I got to walk home from work like Godzilla, crunch crunch crunch, destroying untold civilizations with each indifferent step.

Got my first gift: The stage play Closer by Patrick Marber from Catherine. The orgiastic glee of wanton consumerism begins. Christmas, like sex, like dancing, brings us back to the pleasures of primitive exchanges. What is gift-giving but trade, the wonder of bartering, two seeds for a pot, three apples and a goat for a DVD box set?

Yesterday Tony and John called Christmas Annual Save the Economy Day. Well, good will, or good economics: bring on the spirit.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:17:00 a.m. | Permalink

The Second Day of Christmas

Work party; Mandarin.




I woke up the next morning and immediately dropped a giant log, like a giant snake shedding skin, except more like a man shedding a giant snake.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:35:00 a.m. | Permalink

Confused.

Last week I was telling Cat about the guy I knew who had commited suicide (because she was talking about someone she knew who had done the same, and I was wondering if it was the same guy). Oddly, Cat broke out into hysterical laughter.

Today I see Cat and Krystle before my shift starts. I bring the subject up again and Cat, once again, lets loose with the guffaws and table slapping. Krystle asks whats up and I tell her the story. She too keels over from belly laughs.

I ask them what the fuck is wrong with them, the guy is dead! They tell me I should stop telling the story THAT way.

"WHAT way??"

This makes them laugh even harder.

"WHAT??"

And they laugh yet harder. And at this point I am laughing too and I can almost feel myself literally burning in Hell.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:14:00 a.m. | Permalink

The First Day of Christmas...

One Christmas party down. After much deliberation, I ordered the pasta. Me and Wayne agreed that Justice Leauge is quality television and that Jennifer Garner has got some bitties. My gf received some nice pink lingerie. My plate was soaked in butter, and fuck, the weather was colder than a polar bear's poker face.



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:00:00 p.m. | Permalink

It's that time of year...

No, not Christmas. I'm speaking on the time of year where I throw up a bunch of list posts. Top Ten Lists, fresh for '05, you suckas. (c)Krs.

Basically, I have writer's block. I also have no social life around this time of year, so I have nothing to write about. More than that, my brain gets mad lazy and I don't feel like thinking too much. So get ready for the next few posts of numerical nattering.

IN THE YEAR 2004 :

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before? Spent XMas with Christianne. Went to the Reel Asian Film Festival. Started writing a novel.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I didn't make any last year, but this year I will.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Not really. Some babies were born in the social periphery, though. And Jo is birthing another one real soon.

4. Did anyone close to you die? No, but a dude I knew in elementary school commited suicide (RIP.) And I thought my dog was gonna die for a good minute back there.

5. What countries did you visit? Via Alias DVD set: The World

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004? Success and recognition.

7. What date from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? September 15th. Dude. I don't even know what day it is today.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Dropping out of school and getting my shit started.

9. What was your biggest failure? ...dropping out of school.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? No. But I had about a million migraines. They're getting worse and more frequent.

11. What was the best thing you bought? "Magneto Was Right" t-shirt.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? Not sure what this means.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Starbucks. All of us.

14. Where did most of your money go? My girlfriend's belly.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? My new laptop. The buzz around Sin City and Batman Begins.

16. What song will always remind you of 2003? Ciara: "Goodies"

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a. happier or sadder? happier
b. thinner or fatter? fatter
c. richer or poorer? matter of perspective

18. What do you wish you'd done more of? martial arts, writing, sleeping, meditating, talking with friends, laughing

19. What do you wish you'd done less of? trash talking, being angry

20. How will you be spending Christmas? with my loved ones and my Love

22. Did you fall in love in 2004? no, but I sank deeper

23. How many one-night stands? Haha.

24. What was your favorite TV program? Alias, The Apprentice, Justice League: Unlimited

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? Hate is a strong word. I've lost respect for people, no doubt.

26. What was the best book you read? The Corrections, The Watchmen.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? Kanye West, the voice of Al Green, MF Doom

28. What did you want and get? My parent's support.

29. What did you want and not get? Published.

30. What was your favorite film of this year? Closer, Harold and Kumar, Before Sunset.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 23 and we went to a crappy Asian/Fusion buffet. Garden State and Lobster with my gf.

32.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? ...I dunno. Getting published. Hearing a good Mos Def album after a five year wait. Not fighting so much with my gf earlier in the year.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004? According to G: "Chad Hugo meets Pharell Williams." I'm basically a Neptune's clone, I guess.

34. What kept you sane? Music. My gf digging mines. Zen.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Natalie Portman, Mercedes Scelba-Shorte, Camile Velasco.

36. What political issue stirred you the most? The Election/George Bush's victory, the attack on Falluja.

37. Who did you miss? Baby Faith, Blaise, Suzanne, Jill.

38. Who was/were the best new person/people you met? Kev, if he counts.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004. We're all in this together. Talk less, listen more.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"You can't match my hustle; you can't fathom my love" - Kanye

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:56:00 p.m. | Permalink

Prejudice

Keep seeing Adam around the store lately. We never really talked alot before, so when we exchanged e-mail addresses with the promise that we would send each other some writing and stuff, we both had expressions on our face that said "THIS guy writes POETRY??"

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:22:00 p.m. | Permalink

Closing Arguments

Sometimes when I debate politics and race with people it ends amicably. Othertimes, it ends with me calling the other person "Hitler" and them calling me "idiot".

And yet, other times, it ends like this:

Kevin - Wish me Better Luck Tomorrow says:
yeahm but if you spanked them you'd have greenpeace all over you
jef. says:
mmm. greenpeace all over me.

Malcolm and Martin, we are not.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:09:00 p.m. | Permalink

Monday Morning Quarterback

MMQ is also a new feature here at Deadly Errythangs. The name kinda fronts like I watch sports, which I don't. I believe the expression refers to fans who watch football on Sunday and then gather around the watercooler on Monday to discuss how stupid the coaches and players are, and how different things would be if they were in charge of the playbook.

Basically, after-the-fact rhetorical victory.

If you know me, you know I like to debate. However, I'm the type who can never formulate his arguments quick enough or even formulate a solid stance on the issue at hand until days later. And then I sit around and suck my thumb and think "I should have said THIS".

MMQ will feature said THIS.

I was meeting Alexis (Christianne's cousin) and Jay (Alexis' bf) for the first time. The topic turned to CityTV and how their obviously calculated diversified staff was merely a marketing gimmick.

What I meant to say was: "Well, forreal, minority representation is something you just don't find anywhere else on television. Even if City is using it as a marketing gimmick, whatever, it's a marketing gimmick that I support to the fullest."

For added after-the-fact impact, Citypulse News has just won a Gemini Award for best news broadcast. So, not only are them motherfuckers Brown and Yellow and Black and handicapped. They damn good broadcasters. Eat it, yt male non-confined-to-a-wheelchair majority!

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 8:32:00 p.m. | Permalink

Lessons From Irene

This is a new blog feature. Irene is a fellow Sbux worker that, despite her high spirits and enthusiasm for giving compliments, isn't very popular. Some would say she kinda dumb. She's half-Black half-Greek; though it's more like her features are full-Black and her accent is full-Greek. Plus, she's Jesus-crazy and takes to preaching the word of God at awkward moments, sliding psalms into conversations like envelops beneath a door. She also likes George Bush.

However, I've taken a liking to Irene. She invites me to plays put on by her church about Jesus; Black Jesus! And everybody knows how I feel about minority representation in the arts. She cracks up at my horrible jokes. She is genuinely nice and is the only person in my whole life who I've never heard bad-mouth another. Also, for all her God-centric preaching, she every once in awhile says something that acutally makes me pause.

These segments will feature such insights.

Irene: Oh man, we're so busy! These people won't stop ordering the drinks!
Toothpick: Yea. Bastards!
Irene: Jef! That's a bad word.
Toothpick: Bastards! What? It's a real word though! Bastards!
Irene: It's a real word, but it shouldn't exist. It was just made to hurt people. They don't exist in real life.
Toothpick: Uhm. Hey, you're right. Motherfuckers!

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 8:12:00 p.m. | Permalink

This shit happens every year.

Every year we, The Kids, can't for the life us figure out what gifts to get Dad for Christmas. Every year we ask him, and he replies, "there's nothing that I want." He regales us with stories of him getting his father his favorite soap for Christmas, because Lolo as well cared not for material possessions. A new shirt? A brand new rice cooker? No, all he got was a measly bar of soap. Such humble offerings were the makings for a Good Christmas.

I used to take this to heart as a kid. I figured that if I could duplicate the sentiment in this story I could become the Perfect Son. Which led to three years in a row of me giving my dad a fresh avacado for Christmas: his favorite fruit. Eventually though even I got sick of watching him unwrap and eat a baby dinosaur while everyone else played with kickass new Gameboy games and thems newfangled CD thingamajigs. I wanted to get the man a kickass present even if he didn't want one. BECAUSE he didn't want one.

We went through a mutli-year phase of buying Dad various puzzles and mind-bending toys. As if our father were not our father, but a genius child prodigy that we were rearing to one day become King of the World. Or at least King of the Puzzles. We thought this was good idea because he was retiring soon and would have lots of time on his hands and no hobbies to occupy them.

Little did we know, this man, this Energizer Man, would just not fuckin retire. Further did we not know, that he was already Master of the Puzzles, and would have every baffling bauble solved in less than a fortnight (puzzles, I might add, sadly, that I have never solved, despite the sad amounts of time and brain power I have dedicated to their unraveling).

My dad eveuntally did find a hobby: computers. But as most kids (at least back in the day), I didn't have the finances needed to support such an interest. Instead, I went around Square 1 collecting all the free computing mags from CompuServe and Radio Shack and wrapping them up in a box for him. Years later I got a part-time job that actually provided me with some semblance of an income, and I was able to afford small programs -- Battle Chess, Pinball, Super Solitaire. Essentially, a higher-tech version of the toys we had already been buying for him.

The past few years I've been phoning it in. I've been leaving it up to the sister or brother to come up with a gift and then I split the cost with them. There. Ha. Easy.

But this has led to a string of electronics or electronic accessories that my dad seems to have no use for. At best, these gifts interest my dad enough to buy an upgraded or better version of the gift we have given him. It's like we give him a movie preview and then he buys himself a ticket.

This year again I asked him what he wanted. He just laughed at me, the villain. Laughed and said "you torture yourself every year!" He might as well have added "you dumb, stupid bastard!"

And I was willing to accept defeat. The man has no wants. No material desires.

But then. OH THEN. He came home the other day with a brand new cellphone.

"WHY DID YOU BUY YOURSELF A CELLPHONE?" I asked, anger and frustration explicit and pouring from the folds in my forehead. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US THAT YOU WANTED A NEW CELLPHONE?"

He just grinned and shrugged and smirked at me, the bastard.



[this juxtaposition brought to you by technicolor]

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 9:17:00 p.m. | Permalink

Let's try this again...

I've been thinking politically lately. I just wrote a huge entry that made about as much sense as Nelly being nominated for Best HipHop Album. Basically though, I'm reevaluating a lot of things. The way I think about politics, the way I argue my stances, my views on the world.

Thanks to all of you who have blessed me with your conversations, debates, and arguments.

And who ever said that talking does nothing?


peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:26:00 a.m. | Permalink

Teach One, Reach One

Mr. V was the first teacher to make a difference. I don't really remember any of the shit he taught us, and he was a little too Jesus-happy for my tastes (this was Grade 8, the year of my Confirmation as a Roman Catholic, the year I began to ask deep questions about my religion), but aside from all the "school" crap, Mr. V was one of the best teachers I've ever had.

He had a true passion for what he did, and we felt it in many forms. I felt it when he told me that I should one day write for a living. I also felt it when he found out that a bunch of us had been sneaking away during lunch break and getting drunk at Frankie's house. He was so livid with disappointment and betrayal that he went on a rampage, tearing down posters and classroom artwork, yelling and screaming "I'm not your friend, we're not friends".

He spent a week or so in relative silence, speaking to us only to deliver the day's lessons and nothing more. There was no speaking allowed in class aside from on-topic question-and-answer periods.

Eventually though, he came around. He started talking to us again, he forgave us, in that backwards way that adults do, on the condition that we promise to fulfill our side of the student/teacher bargain. He also made it clear that if we came into his classroom drunk or high or smelling of cigarettes, he would skin us alive and sell our innards to science (all about education, to the very end).

He didn't just encourage my writing, he was the first to even tell me that I had talent. I can understand me coming to a teacher and saying "I want to write", and them patting me on my bowl-cut head and saying "Yes! Follow your dreams little foreign child!" But Mr. V just came up to me one day and told me I should write comedy for a living. He enjoyed the ramblings in my weekly log book, wherein I bucked the traditional, topical approach, and wrote stream of conscious observations dissecting life, myself, my chair, that guy over there. (i.e. A pre-blog blog.)

He introduced me to not only poetry, but to rap lyrics. He not only made us dissect Shakespeare's sonnets, but also instructed us to bring in popular song lyrics and do the same to them. At this point in my life it was all about Seattle, and so we all brought in the angsty cries of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Stone Temple Pilots. Which wouldn't have been so bad if we weren't a bunch of idiots, bringing in not said artist's more poetic work, but rather, their loudest and most conducive to head-banging.

"This is not poetry!" he yelled, after my reading of STP's "Sex Type Thing". He then urged us to look more into rap lyrics, Public Enemy and Arrested Development, and yes, he was a white man, through and through with all that entails. He just happened to recognize powerful words for powerful words. (And honestly, after ten years or so of being into this shit, I realize what an amazing thing it was to find a white Canadian teacher preaching hiphop lyrics as the heir to Shakespeare to his way-too-young students, before this shit went mainstream, before Tupac and Biggie died and suddenly became poets.) I didn't end up taking his advice until high school, but everytime I sit back and go bug-eyed on the latest Nas verse, I tilt an invisibe hat in the imaginary direction of Mr. V.

The big moment came when we had to make comic strips. After reading mine, he not only gave me an A but sat at his desk, mouth stretching across his cheekbones, cracking up in laughter. And if that ain't the shit for a kid in Grade 8, I don't know what is. Further, he then asked if he could keep the strip -- the biggest compliment I had received yet at that point in my life.

I saw him this morning at Sbux. He's become a sometimes-regular customer, and though we've done the small talk here and there, today was the first time he actually asked "so, what are *doing* nowadays?"

"I'm actually writing a novel..." I said.

He didn't even look me in the face, just fished through his wallet for change and said, "Yea, always knew you would."

And if I can just say, that felt good like a motherfucker.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:43:00 p.m. | Permalink

Snow Flow

Just finished shoveling the year's first snowfall off of the driveway. Nothing too big or thick, just like a layer of coffee cake residue easily scooped up by spatula. My plan was to wake up early today and get my ass to writing (down at the Bux, of course). But waking up to the sight of concrete covered in gentle white blankets really makes a dude lazy. So Ima spend the day just like I spend all the first snow-days...sitting at the computer, drinking on Joy tea, listening to easy hiphop and rnb.

I think my gf is much more into the Christmas season than I am. Not that I'm a total Scrooge, but she seems to get off on the lights and the snow and the music. Me? I'm only feelin the snow. Snow makes me lazy, snow makes me calm, and snow instills in me a deep appreciation of warmth. Maybe it's the Zen in me. But snow's my thing.

When I was a kid it was all about the snow ball fights. I will never forget the day spent at Mike's house building forts and trenches and stacks of ammo, and then going to war on his brother and his friend Anthony Chan (rest in peace, dude). I was cleary the weak link, the only one who wasn't a star baseball player, so I delegated myself the task of crafting the meanest, hardest, roundest snowballs ever known to man or small boy. Just this side of ice. I'm a libra, and if there's one thing we libras do, it's even the scales.

There's this one winter that I look back on, and through the lens of the present I see it as one of my first signs of oncoming depression. I remember walking home from school (we're talking elementary still), coming home, and then without thinking just leaning into the snowbank created on the side of our house by my dad's shoveling. I eased into a groove and sank into the snow, and I layed there for what felt like hours. I wondered what it felt like to die and be buried. I wondered what animals felt when it was cold. I wondered how long I could survive under snow, and whether anyone would find me before it melted next spring. I thought about eskimos and watched my breath do the film noir dance. Only when I heard the laughing voices of the other neighborhood kids making their way towards me, did I become self-conscious again, standing up suddenly and bringing my freezing ass back inside.

There's other good memories. Like the first time I got glasses, driving home from the optometrist and seeing winter for the first time, clearly. Seeing all the little ice drops on the fingertips of tree branches, seeing all the little crystals floating like molecules in the air. I did not know winter looked this beautiful. I thought everyone had been looking at what I was looking at. Even the slush, brown, and sad, and mushy, was a wonder to stare at.

I remember Blaise looking for fresh, un-stepped-on snow, and eating it. I remember Salem burrowing into snow banks and coming up on the other side, like a bunny. I remember Joker being let out, hearing his barking, and watching my dad carry him back inside, half dead. (He died later that day.) I remember John White and I practicising fight choreography on The Hill, me taking a punch and sliding backwards, all the way down. "You should be a stuntman," he would later say to me.

I remember breaking up with my ex-girlfriend in her shitbox car, the cold forming crisp white sheets across the windows. I remember her kissing me goodbye for the last time and her lips being cold and bloodless, the only liquid able to flow and retain its state being the many tears.

I remember making my first film, Found, running to the bus stop with Blaise to film one last shot, the opening title credits, the very same morning that the film was due. I remember the feeling of freeze on my hands as I clumsily operated the camera.

This year will form new memories. It's the first Holiday Season that I will be able to spend with my gf, seeing as she's spent the previous winters of our relationship in sunny California with her family. I'm lookin forward to experiencing first hand her love for the season. I see us on the couch, hot chocolates and chestnuts, black and white classics. I may not like the Christmas but I do love winter. I like snow because the cold feels warm to me, it feels real.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:58:00 p.m. | Permalink

How to Sedate Me

Fill me to the brim with shiny rotisserie chicken, tufts of stuffing and crisp, golden french fries. Have sex with me. Hold me tight to your chest and change the channel to any Infotainment television show.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:19:00 a.m. | Permalink

Closer

I just saw a movie that might grow to be a serious contender for favourite-of-all-time. Maybe I hype too much, but that shit cut like a warm knife. I ordered a large popcorn but soon discovered myself incapable of swallowing. I placed it on the floor and forgot all about it. I also forgot to breathe.

And no, it's not just because I have a heart-on for Natalie Portman. But yes, she sticks this movie in her back pocket and runs like hell. Clive Owen has burned a scar on my tongue that I will spend the next few days scraping across the roof of my mouth, tasting.




peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:11:00 a.m. | Permalink

Plastic Rap

I've been doing a good deal of Christmas shopping on-line. This is bad for two reasons:

1) My credit card is already pretty deep in the hole. This ain't helping things.
2) I end up finding shit for myself. In general I have pretty good self-control. I've avoided some things that I really wanted. But still. I bought some shit. And this being Christmas...I really shouldn't be buying shit for myself.

Here's the tally so far:

-Gift for girlfriend. (She reads the blog so it ain't getting listed.)
-I Love Lucy second season for mom.
-Gift for sister. (Who I suspect drops in on this blog from time to time. So yea. But hey, if you're reading this. Your gift might come late. Delivery time is suspect. But you'll get it.)
-Wolverine action figure (kickass) for the Holiday Angel's Toy Drive.

Still in need:

-Starbucks Secret Santa (Spiderman: India for Impact/Kamal)
-Gift for dad. Anyone got any ideas? ANYONE??
-Gift for Noli. But this can wait for post-Xmas cuz we just mailing shit to him in Vancouver. I'm thinking I'll get him a funky t-shirt off Ebay or GiantRobot.com
-Gift for Salem. This is totally optional and depends on funds. Cuz you know...she a dog.
-Donation for TO Food Bank. Gotta stop wimping out on this one. None of that 5 dollar shit.
-Gifts for friends? Still haven't decided on this one. I mean, Suzy will prolly hit me with one, so I'll get her one. But if I get her one then I gotta get one for everyone. So yea. But let's keep it small, toothpick.

Anyways. Sbux is giving us $250 bonus this year. Which helps alot.

So. *reluctance*

...thanks Sbux.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:25:00 p.m. | Permalink