Dan's Magic Porn Machine, SLC Punk, and Goodbye to 2006

Kristin understands that pants aren't necessary in order to wish you Happy
Holidays!
Alternate caption: Hottest stocking stuffer ever?
Alternate caption 2: Me want. Sigh.



It seems like most everyone has a laptop now and it seems almost as common for people to have wireless access to the internet. This is what allows me to watch my "art films" while typing all that I've got and ever will a whole bunch right now into this labour of love called my blog. So if you're able to relate (ahem), you'll also understand that when you live in an apartment complex or in a densely populated neighborhood that there are all sorts of other people with wireless networks around you that your computer can pick up. Hell, thieives like me depend on this. Now most of these networks have generic names like "linksys" or "wireless" or whatever. But I met a lady this past week in dirty Salt Lake LDS City who told me about a guy who must have lived close to her in her apartment building because she always noticed his wireless network pop up on her computer whenever she attempted to connect. So why did she notice this guy's network? Because he named his network "Dan's Magic Porn Machine". Greatness. So the woman decided to give her network a cutey fun name: "Don't Shake Dan's Hand". Triple greatness. I have thus decided that I need to get a wireless network (instead of continuing to steal my idiot neighbor's). I also have decided that it is equally as important that I name my network something as abrasive and over the top as possible. I look forward to all of my loyal readers' suggestions. Remember. Abrasive. Over the top.

This edition's Wednesday's Child is all 4'11" of blonde sweet-tart sex tiger, Kristin Chenoweth. Miss Chenoweth is a star of the musical stage, television screen, and movie motion. She's also an Okie who attended that sweet little college that I currently am drawing a paycheck from and

...shit. Sorry. I just woke up from a nap. Look, the girl in the picture is hot. I've got so many other things to talk about. I woke up from a nap so I could call a friend to find out where this girl's party is tonight. I get the directions and then come the words, "Hey, don't forget to bring a dirty Santa gift!". God almighty. Why is it that when girls have parties, they always have to have a bit? When I was in college, I hosted parties whose entire premise was based around--and try to follow me here--people gathering, people drinking and...yeah, that's pretty much it. I've noticed that as my friends and I have gotten older, we feel the need to attach some additional addition to what used to be a brilliant premise based on its simplicity.

SLC Punk

So I haven't written in a while. I've had a lot to digest since my grandmother's funeral. Most of those thoughts and considerations are still in my little Latin head oven broiling away like a Thanksgiving Day turkey. When I come to some more conclusions, I may or may not let you know. But one of the highlights of my time since I last left you all was a trip to Salt Lake City, Utah to see my big sister, Cindy.

Let me highlight some of the good and bad.

Good: The outdoor surroundings in SLC remind me of a Coors Beer commercial.

Bad: The air quality on some days there also reminds me of Los Angeles.

Good: Most of the people I encountered were very friendly.

Bad: Most of THOSE people were Mormons who gave me a real creepy vibe.

Good: I got to go into the mountains, which was amazing.

Bad: With the mountains, comes altitude sickness for us low land living handsome guys like me. What does handsome have to do with it? Don't worry about that.

Good: There are lots of beautiful women my age there.

Bad: Those women have almost all been married for about eight or nine years.

The most fascinating aspect of Utah to me surrounded the drinking laws. Now as you know, practicing Mormons don't drink--or at least they're not supposed to. Doesn't everyone have at least a little capacity for naughty? Anyway, when you go to Salt Lake City, you get the feeling from the moment you step out of the plane that the Mormons and specifically their church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS, as they are often called), control everything. This is most obviously apparent in regards to the flow of alcohol.

First, all of the liquor stores in the state are OWNED by the state. So you won't see a place called "Byron's Liquor Warehouse" or my personal favorite "Hob Knob Rob's". All of them are simply called "State Liquor Store". Secondly, if you go into the bar and order a liquor drink, it's a totally different experience than what you're used to anywhere else. To even get into a bar and be served, you're required to be a "member" of the particular bar or club. My sister literally has only about one or two places she frequents because she doesn't want to pay multiple annual memberships to these places. If you're a guest, you can purchase a "guest membership" and fill out some paperwork. Paperwork is a big player in SLC. You get the feeling that the LDS-run state is wanting to make super duper for real sure that you want to get a drink. It's like going to a bar anywhere else, ordering a beer, and having the bartender ask if you're really super duper triple dog swear sure you're ready for this kind of commitment.

The other big thing concerns ordering liquor drinks. There is no "free pouring" allowed under the law. If you've managed to pass through the Indiana Jones-esque hurdles to actually get up to the bar, you can order a drink. Let's say I decide to order a Crown and Coke. The bartender will then metre out exactly ONE ounce--in a measuring cup--of Crown to pour into your drink. Oh yeah, I'm not making this up. Can you order a double? Weeeeeeeeeeeellll, you can. At this point, you'll most likely get a befuddled look accompanied with a complimentary copy of the Book of Mormon. If you at this point insist, the bartender will pour out another ONE ounce of liquor. Only this time, he passes the measuring cup to you to pour into your drink. It is ILLEGAL for a bartender to actually pour the second ounce of alcohol into a drink. The onus is on you to do that. I suppose that's so when you're being condemned to Hell, you can't blame it on the bartender in any way shape or form.

God: Ya know Rob, if you had only been in Arizona and the bartender had poured that extra bit of liquor for you, we could probably just let this slide with a technicality and get you into Heaven on some sort of work release program. But I'm afraid there's no way I can let this one slide. I wish I had the power to do that, but ya know, my hands are tied.

Rob: Will they at least have Crown Royal in hell, Lord?

God: I can't make any promises, but I'll put in a good word for you. I mean, no one wants you to completely suffer just because you're going to Hell.


Overall though, it was a nice trip. Nice scenery, quality time with the most kickass big sister a shithead like me could have, and I got to have a nice steak dinner. The only real lowlight of the trip was that somehow I forgot to pack even a single pair of jeans. I only had the dress slacks that I flew in. So I had my sister take me shopping to go purchase an emergency pair. And--well this is the part that's hard--I bought jeans from Old Navy. God I feel like such a sellout. I feel like a hard core punk rocker in the late 70's who admits to his friends that, "You know, 'Staying Alive' by the Bee Gees is actually not a bad song." Maybe when I have that conversation with God, He'll let the liquor thing slide. But somehow, I don't see him letting this Old Navy thing pass. No way. No how...


Goodbye to 2006

So it's nearly the end of another year, my 27th to be exact (or since I'm now 27, does this mean I'm in my 28th?), and I had a nice little revelation the other day. I'm happier than I've given myself credit for being. At the end of 2005, I figured out that I was going to be fine without my ex. I think at the end of 2006, I've figured out that I'm going to be fine period. Don't get me wrong, there are things I'll always be sorting out and additions I want to make to enhance my life, but I suppose I've learned that much of the way you look at yourself depends on the way you've defined yourself.

I wrote this the other day while sitting in my parked car before I headed into therapy for yet another session with a woman who just can't stop making "naked" analogies and who suggests that her physical assaults of me are necessary if I "ever want to be a good boy again":

"Love ISN'T romanticized. Instead it is loss, the road to loss, and the subsequent pursuit of love that is romanticized. A large source of depression comes from when you DON'T have that drama anymore. You trick yourself into believing that its the drama that depresses you. In fact, its the drama that has suddenly given your life a sense of depth and purpose--false as it almost surely is. When it's gone, what do you have left? If you have a meaningful life independent of drama or a woman or the pursuit or loss, you'll be okay. Otherwise, you get sucked into believing that you need some cliche pursuit or some episodic condition or state of being that "sucks" to give it purpose. The key is to find meaning that has NOTHING to do with your current relationship status."


I think that this has been the thing holding me back the most. I have spent the past year defining myself either by my loss or by the pursuit (whether I wanted to admit that or not) of someone. God knows I've worn the "I was engaged to the evilest of evil evil women and lived to tell the tale, so where's my badge of honor and my cookie and this time I want a fucking Tagalong, douchebag" mantle. I've also quietly stewed in private and allowed "loneliness" to chew me up inside to a greater degree than I've ever let on. But hey, depression and loss are the things that make me feel deep and important and all the best movies are either about finding love, losing love, or finding, losing, and then finding it again. Somehow I've always missed the point that things in my currently single "condition" aren't so bad. I've got a job I love, friends and family who care about me, a roof over my head, and an ability at NHL 07 on PS2 that is nothing to sneeze at.

Don't lament, my loyal readers. I refuse to give up my "glass is 3/4 empty wise ass" view of life just yet. God, I would bore the shit out of myself and you if I suddenly turned too positive. I suppose I'm just granting that things aren't so bad and that the things I do have are a lot cooler than I've given them credit for being. Man, I just had a moment where I wondered aloud if this is all coming off like one of Doogie Howser, M.D.'s computer entries.

"Wanda still won't fucking put out. Screw this, I'm going gay."

Well, loyal readers (how many times have I called you that), that's about all for this episode. I wish you all the very best in this holiday season of Lordy Santa Rudolphiness. As I left therapy, I told my abusive therapist that all I wanted for Christmas was to maybe get laid one more time before the New Year. She told me that she wished me the best.

"Did you actually just wish me the best in my pursuit to get laid?"

"Well, I really just meant that I wish you the best for everything in your life."

"Geez, you can't even wish me luck on getting laid. What do I pay you for?"



Album of the Week: "Live Warehouse EP"

Artist: Band of Annuals

Song Highlights: "Thought I'd Have Learned", "Something True", "Blood On My Shirt"












Song of the Day: "The Great Salt Lake"

Artist: Band of Horses

Album: "Everything All the Time"

Lyric of Possible Relevance:

"Now, if you find yourself falling apart
Then I'm sure.. I could steer... the Great Salt Lake
We're following home
We want more
Following home
We all want more."