Category Archives: Randomness

Cool Runnings (Quite Possibly the Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Written)

So I had to do this focus group, right? It’s all about snowmobiles and why I’d want one, which clearly means I had to stretch the truth. I mean, what would I do with a snowmobile? I have no truck to transport it, no money to buy it, and absolutely zero interest in owning one in the first place. Nonetheless, there was a fifty dollar prize for whoever made the most creative piece (which I crushed by the way), and I figured I’d just mess around with it and see what came out. It’s terrible, utterly terrible, but it does have some moments. Here are the three questions I had to answer:

1) WHAT YOU THINK YOU WILL LOVE MOST ABOUT YOUR VEHICLE

Be it a snowmobile, personal watercraft, all-terrain vehicle, side-by-side vehicle, motorcycle, 3-wheel roadster or boat, we know you are contemplating ownership of one. Please let us know what you think you will LOVE most about it? Ultimately, what is the appeal? Why do you want one of these vehicles? Please show us through a few images.

2) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WITH YOUR NEW VEHICLE?

What do you envision doing with this power sports vehicle? Where will you go? With whom will you be? What activities will take place?

3) HOW DO YOU THINK YOU WILL FEEL?

Think about when you actually have this vehicle. Think about doing with it what you referred to on the prior page. How do you think it will feel? Please tell us about what you think it will mean to you to own it, use it, drive, ride it. What will you get out of it? Perhaps think about how you might complete the sentence – “Driving/riding my new vehicle will make me feel ____________.”

What is life like without it? How do you feel about not owning one today?

Here’s my response…………………………………………………………………………………………..

COOL RUNNINGS

Chapter 1

Since the dawn of time, snowmobiles (a.k.a. Chariots of the Arctic) have given humans quick access to areas that might otherwise take what feels like forever to get to. Not only are they insanely awesome to ride, they provide riders with a command of the elements that transcends them from the world of mere mortals to the realm of the Gods.

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They are fast, sleek, no nonsense machines that can be used in a variety of ingenious ways. For some, they are purely recreational; for others, necessary for survival in isolated communities. Carl Eliason, who is considered the inventor of the snowmobile, found  the machines to be ideal for hunting. “With this machine, I was able to turn the tables on my hunting comrades–as long as there was snow on the ground. While they hoofed it on foot, I would ride and get to our destination in the woods an hour ahead of them!” Although the machines can be loud enough to alert potential game of a hunter’s presence, the ability to move with relative ease through the snow is simply too advantageous to ignore.

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However, since I do not hunt, none of that applies to me. The real reason I would love my new snowmobile is similar why bikers love their motorcycles–they provide an avenue for going where no man has gone before, an enhancement of liberty as I continue my quest for discovering true freedom.

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True freedom and picking up chicks.

Chapter 2

Of course, there might be more to life than finding true freedom and meeting women. Possibly. For me, having fun with my friends brings color to my life, and having a snowmobile would allow us to color outside of the lines. I cannot say for certain where we go, as I envision me and my two best friends traveling through parts unknown, following our hearts into territories that would otherwise remain foreign to us. I can see it now; blizzards, bears, our own self-doubts–these would no longer be obstacles for us. If anything, they would provide us with unique moments to reminisce about once we got back to the lodge. A sense of comradery can be found through such experiences. I have no doubt that Mike Brown, Jon Larsen and I would become better friends because of our snowmobiles.

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I would also want to look like the polar version of Ayrton Senna, a Formula One race car driver who tragically passed before his time. I would coordinate my outfit to match my snowmobile with his image in mind, dressing all in red except for my signature yellow helmet. That way there would be no question who was lapping the other snowmobilers.

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Chapter 3

Obviously my snowmobile would make me feel awesome. Why wouldn’t it? Everything I’ve described rules so hard that I can’t imagine feeling anything less that fulfilled. True, eventually I would have to return to civilization and resume my day-to-day existence, but knowing that I now have the ability to feel that level of coolness–both figuratively and literally– would give me something to look forward to. Although the general drudgery of work would still be unavoidable, I’d know that soon I’d be flying across the snow.

Both figuratively and literally.

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Now that I think about it, life without my snowmobile totally sucks. Am I wasting my life? Why am I here right now, sitting in this room, when I could be out on the backwoods trails, the crisp wind chilling my face as my all-powerful machine warms my heart? Human beings are both blessed and cursed with our ability to conceptualize, and whereas thinking about my snowmobile while I sit in a cubicle is something I’d love, sitting in my cubicle thinking about how I don’t have a snowmobile is completely crushing. Life is already hard without having to realize that you don’t have a snowmobile, and with that in mind, is there really any question of why I want one in the first place? No, there isn’t.

I want a snowmobile.

I need a snowmobile.

And as God as my witness, I will have a snowmobile.

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Note: I chose these photos because they reflect exactly what I think when the word snowmobile comes to mind. Outside of Aryton Senna, all characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

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The Best Thing Vice Cut Out of My Article

Yes, my new article on Zaqistan is up and going, and though it’s getting some positive reviews or whatever, I’m a little bummed out about how it was edited, mostly because it excluded a certain line that I felt was necessary. Since I’m the editor of this far superior site, I thought I’d share with you my favorite line from the story. It goes as follows:

IMG_4325“Brothels, man,” Scott muttered as he slammed rivets into the sheet metal, “that’s what this place needs.”

–Scott Wasilewski

IG: swagsilewski

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Christmas Eve 2010 | Me and Mike Brown Discuss Girls

162958_1753572049270_6966341_nChristmas really sucks sometimes. Like, really sucks, and for a whole slew of reasons. Maybe you didn’t get whatever present you wanted or maybe you’re stuck dealing with some bitchy family members. Maybe you’re just alone and suicidal, again. The reasons are generally very personal, but there’s no denying the holiday can be tricky at times.

In 2010, Mike Brown and I were pissed off to all hell. Not only did we not have any clue what we were doing with our lives, but a friend of ours who had been hit by a car and was in lying in a coma in critical condition. The latter was the particular catalyst for setting us off on our path of destruction, and the former purely flamed the fire. But when it really comes down to it, the whole thing was about girls.

Earlier that summer, I’d driven across the country from New Orleans to Salt Lake City with the sole intention of laying it all out on a line for a girl, who promptly rejected me. I really should have taken that into consideration after the first time I’d done that, leaving San Francisco for the same girl with the same result. Clearly I’m either a slow learner or a glutton for punishment. I really liked that girl, and the whole thing was making me completely unhinged.

Mike Brown on the other hand, he was dealing with a complete lush who tended to be coked up out of her mind most of the time. She’d been calling and yelling at him all night, and Mike had had enough. We drank whiskey and discussed all these bullshit things that were making us angry and frustrated, and I vaguely remember asking Mike, “What the fuck are we supposed to do about any of it?”
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Mike said something and punched the fridge. I punched the fridge too, so Mike kicked it and dented in the door. This caused me to throw a plate on the ground. Mike thought that was a great idea and smashed a plate that we’d always hated. That’s when I pulled out the hammers. What followed was 45 plus minutes of me somehow filming us as we held a drunken conversation about women and life, shattering all of our dishes with hammers in the process.

If you watch all the videos, you get an idea for the level of communication that Mike and I have between each other. Sure, we might be hammering the handle off our frying pan, but we’re also talking honestly about how we feel. For instance, at one point I ask Mike what he’s looking for a girl, and he didn’t hesitate to say the truth. “Awesome boobs. Awesome boobs and that’s pretty much it. I’ve tried to look for everything else and I can’t find it,” he said. “So what else is there than awesome boobs?”

Later I filmed him getting dumped by the girl in question. Looking back, it’s pretty weird that I felt comfortable keeping the camera on him in awkward silence as some girl explains why they’re done over the phone. I’m glad I did it though, because the last line he says after she hangs up is priceless. We were completely out of control, and somehow acting reasonable because of it.

After about an hour of mayhem, our downstairs neighbor came up to check on us, worried that someone had broken into our place and was breaking our legs with baseball bats. We let him know that no, we were fine, and yes, we could see why the noise of us smashing everything with hammers could be disconcerting at 3:30 AM. Since we no longer could use our preferred instrument of destruction, we moved on to fireworks. Those worked pretty well for the moment, but once we were out, we were out, and by that I mean I have no idea what happened until I woke up the next morning.

Now, at that period in time, waking up with no memory of the night before was uncomfortably common enough to be kind of comfortable due to it’s constancy. I didn’t think anything of it, except that there did seem to be an unexpected amount of glass in bed with me. I looked up from where I was laying and stared into the kitchen.

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Ah…

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Yes…

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Fuck.

Fuck indeed. The floor was glittering with glass like the rejects from a tinsel factory. Thankfully I was still wearing my shoes, so gingerly I got up, stepped over my sweater that now had giant holes burned through it from an errant fireball, and took a look around the kitchen. The burn marks on the walls looked fairly manageable, and I figured, hey, fuck those dishes anyway, we can replace them. The fridge was pretty fucked up, but I mean, of course it was. Oh and hey, there’s still a little whiskey left! Better get to this before Mike gets up. Fuck it.

After I realized I’d videotaped the whole thing for god knows what reason, I cut up a few choice moments and threw them up on Youtube. All of our friends thought we did this shit all of the time, and really wanted to come by some night and help us smash all of our things. We thought about trying to charge people for the experience but decided that anyone who would actually be willing to pay wasn’t the type of person we wanted in our house. Instead we simply enjoyed not having to wash dishes. (This of course refers mostly to me; Mike Brown never washed dishes). Either way, Mike’s wounds healed and we didn’t get evicted out of our apartment, and Christmas otherwise passed without incident. Like Morrissey says, things could always be worse, right?

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Here’s the first video of Mike Brown and I having a surprisingly rational conversation as we smash everything in our kitchen to oblivion. Enjoy!

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Top Four Things That Piss Me Off Today

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1) Today

–Fuck today. Today is stupid. Today can’t turn into tomorrow fast enough. Fuck today.

 

2) Tomorrow

–Fuck tomorrow. Tomorrow is also stupid. Tomorrow is going to be like today, but more of today, which is pretty much like taking today and doubling it up. Fuck tomorrow.

 

3) Every Other Single Fucking Day

–It’s mind-blowing how the time just seems to pass, isn’t it? And so much of it is like today, tomorrow, and holy shit, I somehow forgot to mention yesterday. It’s all the same. Fucking terrible.

 

4) Yesterday

–See above.

 

Disclaimer: Fuck it.

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Still Alive

 

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Photos by James Nord

Trench coats courtesy of J. Lindeberg

Style by me

The North Pole, Amongst Other Things

Rich is awake, and so am I, though our motives for being awake are clearly different. He spends his time working on a campaign for Coco Channel. I spend it studying the difference between the two north poles, magnetic and geographical. From what I’ve come to learn, reaching the North Pole was a wildly political endeavor historically, and one that involved sabotaging the careers of fellow explorers in the name of personal glory. I also learned that the position of the magnetic north pole is moving faster and faster, from a rate of 9 km per year in the 70s to 30 something as of 2014. In fact, the magnetic north pole is about to leave Canada, on a march towards Siberia. The Russians are probably pleased about this.

In 2007, Russia planted a flag on the seabed of the Arctic Ocean, presumably at what we would accept to be the geographical North Pole. At the time, I remember thinking how weird that was, but after watching a documentary that included the notion of the race to put an American flag on the sea ice that floated above the pole, I’m less sure. After all, we didn’t think twice about jamming a flag into the moon. I wonder if America might someday claim the moon as ours, purely based on that flag? Talk about a sphere of influence, sterile or otherwise.

From what I’ve been able to ascertain, there is little proof that Santa Claus actually lives in the North Pole. This hasn’t dissuaded the Canadian government from making the zip code of the pole (which they assume to run) from H0H 0H0, a clever pun on the whole “ho ho ho” phrase. Here in America, we’re busy debating on if Santa was white, which apparently he was, even if he was Turkish. Are Turkish people white? Perhaps. Either way, very few if any Turkish people currently maintain residence in the North Pole, making the concept of a white-Turkish-Santa residing in the H0H 0H0 zip code problematic. I seem to be in the minority of people caring about this.

Islam, or rather, Sufism has a strong tie to the North Pole. Apparently a northern mountain, more north than north, involves some vague pilgrimage towards enlightenment that may or may not remind me of Dante’s provocative vision of Hell. But I don’t know about that.

Rich knows someone who either turned down an opportunity to do computer coding in Antarctica, or perhaps knew better than to accept such a job opportunity. I know nothing about that either. I know Werner Herzog did a documentary there, and one that was far more boring that Grizzly Man. I remember watching Grizzly Man while I was living with Rory in San Francisco and working as a traveling whipped cream salesmen. I remember a lot of things.

Rich wants to know what I’m working on. I tell Rich. Rich doesn’t respond. He’s busy writing about emerging trends and ecommerce. Earlier I showed him video of a homeless guy getting bludgeoned to death at a Fullerton transit center. Kelly Thomas. I wonder what he knew about? Perhaps he knew all about aurora borealis and why blue and ultraviolet are the rarest version? Did he know it had to do with the excitement of certain atoms in relation to solar wind? I’ll probably never know. At this point, it’s par for the course.

AJ))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

 

            So, I wrote this a number of months ago for this weird book I’m writing. If you can imagine, the book itself is tackling heavy topics, so how any of this fits in confuses me too. It’s about my friend A.J. Apodaca, lead singer of such notable bands as Four Letter Words, This is Revenge, and The Bitch Boys. He’s kind of one of the most amazing people ever. If you get a chance to buy him a shot at the Rio in Anaheim, do it and ask him to tell you something. I promise it will be worth it.

“Do you know where Bigfoot comes from?” AJ asked me, his Jordan Knight haircut and beaded necklace assaulting my consciousness with striking visual distraction.

“Oregon?” I offered. I knew fully well that Bigfoot existed wherever and whenever Bigfoot wanted to, but I was interested to hear what AJ had to say about it. A mind like AJ’s was predictably unpredictable.

“Let me tell you where Bigfoot is from,” he said with all the authority of a world-renowned scholar. “Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was this planet, a big carnival planet filled with rollercoasters and fantasy rides, like space Disneyland, only all of the attendants working on the planet were androids, and the androids were all really tall and covered in shaggy hair, ‘cause the people who made the carnival planet thought things that were really tall and covered in shaggy hair were cute. So, these androids ran all the rides and things for eons until they became cognizant and realized that they were being exploited for free labor, and since they were cognizant of the fact that they could change their position, they built a spaceship and left the planet in search of a home where they wouldn’t be bothered by annoying creatures anymore.”

“And so they came to Earth…”

“And so they came to Earth. It took a really long time but it didn’t matter because they’re androids and they don’t die. Eventually they made it to our planet and made a home out in the woods. You rarely ever see a Bigfoot because they don’t want to deal with people after working for so long on the carnival planet, and you never find any dead Bigfoot or droppings because they’re androids and they don’t die or poop.”

I had to admit, AJ seemed to have stumbled upon a pretty bulletproof backstory for Bigfoot. If anything, that gives you an indication of the way his mind worked. He took an honest assessment of the existing holes in the story, and instead of concluding Bigfoot was a myth like most people, he managed to work out a way of adequately justifying the lack of evidence, thereby supporting the existence of Sasquatch and leaving his faith intact. Both Bigfoot and AJ came off to me as wonderfully out of the box characters.

But I mean, that’s just the type of guy AJ was. He knew every single Star Trek episode by heart but still watched them all religiously, just in case he’d missed something important. He lived at his parent’s house with his extensive toy collection flanking a life-size cardboard cutout of Saddam Hussein. Predictably, his wardrobe was fiercely eclectic. By every definition of the word, AJ was a character.

His body didn’t produce testosterone naturally, and in a failed attempt to medicate him into normalcy, various doctors had prescribed him with a steroid cream that he had to rub all over his body. This didn’t stop AJ from crying a lot, but it did make him occasionally fly off the handle, a victim of medicinal roid rage. Imagine a wildly out of control and tragically hip nerd, incapable of repressing his disdain for the real world, crying and screaming, too smart for his own good, too creative for reality. That’s AJ in a nutshell.

When cops pulled him over on his bike after leaving the Rio, some shitty Anaheim dive karaoke bar, he tried to explain that he in fact was not the problem. When the cops followed his explanation up by beating the living shit out of him, all AJ could do was scream, “I’m a pacifist!” over and over again. Needless to say, they billy clubbed the fuck out of him until he hyperventilated and submitted.

AJ told me that story while sobbing uncontrollably, desperately confused about why anybody would do that to him, only cheering up when I asked him about the opening scene to Star Trek 5.

“It’s terrible, absolutely terrible,” AJ said, suddenly cheering up with manic intensity. “Captain Kirk and Bones McCoy, sitting around a campfire eating whiskey chili and teaching Spock how to sing ‘Row row row your boat?’ How could you not love it? The movie’s absolutely terrible. Kirk scaled that mountain faster than a man half his age, and where did Spock get those rocket boots? Where do I get rocket boots? Did you know that Star Trek 5 was directed by William Shatner? After all those years, he finally got a chance to show exactly how he envisioned the Star Trek world—three friends joining together to defeat God.”

And they did,” he added.

Something About Charlie

This is some dumb thing I wrote awhile back that’s a fictional conversation about a true story. To the best of my knowledge, everything in it is exactly how it might have gone. I remember watching the video of it back in high school, trying to insert blurs over the obscene for the school TV station, and really just laughing my ass off thanks to the ridiculousness of it all. Let me set the mood: two guys are sitting in a dingy diner…

“You remember Charlie, right?”

“Charlie? Um… I don’t think so…”

“Really? I swear to god you’ve met him. I used to live with him back in that house on 8th east. He’s the big guy, the actor.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure. What does he look like?”

“He’s big. Like 6’7” or something. He’s a big big too—he would have made a fantastic linebacker. He kind of looks like Brendan Frasier from…um…”

“Encino Man?”

“Totally! Only more Cro-Magnum.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“Weird. Well, either way, he used to work at a zoo, back when we were 16 or 17. I can’t remember exactly what his job was, but whatever it was, he used to have to go into the primate exhibit all the time.”

“Okay.”

“So, there was this one chimp named Chip who had this crazy crush on Charlie, right?”

“Alright.”

“Well every time Chip saw Charlie, he’d stare at him, like Charlie was the most attractive chimpanzee he’d ever seen or something. The monkey would just sit there and stare, slowly swinging his arm back and forth, swinging faster and faster with building intensity. Next thing you know, he’d pop a boner and start masturbating furiously with his foot. He couldn’t help it—the monkey was simply that turned on. He was bizarrely automatic.”

“Seriously?”

“Come on! I couldn’t make this shit up. He couldn’t help it. He’d just start jerking off uncontrollably, shrieking at the top of his lungs, staring intently, deep into Charlie’s eyes.”

“He’d do this every time he saw Charlie?”

“Every fucking time. I’m talking auto-fucking-matic. Seriously, Charlie could get the monkey to masturbate on command. It was like he was a Shamu trainer or something. Charlie would always get him to do it when there were a bunch of kids on fieldtrips in the room. They’d crowd the glass while Charlie stood behind them, staring at Chip, who’d suddenly see Charlie and start whacking off in a fantastic fury. It was classic.”

“No way…”

“No, seriously! He’d stand there on one leg, masturbating like a slobbering mad man with his foot, just totally going for it. Then he’d hit this point where he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d end up throwing himself across the pit and totally nailing the window, hard. Usually he’d end up sliding 25 feet to the ground, but every now and again he’d manage to catch the ledge. When that happened, he’d just hang there, totally erect, licking his lips and staring at Charlie. The kids loved it.”

“I bet. Is he still there?”

“Oh no, Charlie moved to L.A. a long time ago. He’s out there doing his acting thing.”

“No, I mean the chimp.”

“Ooooh, well, funny you should ask. So Chip had to get checked out by a vet, right? And he was in this room with another chimp, Happy. So they’re sitting there getting their shots or whatever when suddenly Happy went berserker. He grabbed the vet’s arms at his elbows and ripped all the flesh off up to his hands. Apparently they call it ‘gettin’ cuffed’ in the industry.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“And that was Happy?”

“Totally ridiculous.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, while Happy was attacking the vet, Chip just stood there on a table, clapping his hands and screaming. Then a zoo guard stormed into the room and blew both their brains out. That’s the end of the story. It’s sad, cause Chip wasn’t doing anything—he was just excited. I guess they had to kill them both though, just because you can’t be too safe. Zoos are fucked up places.”

“Crazy.”

“I know… Charlie used to tell me about how Happy had been castrated as an infant and didn’t have any balls, and that Chip had giant balls and it made Happy sad. But I don’t know about all that.”

“Hmm…”

“I know, it’s weird… still… I kind of feel bad for him.”

“For getting shot?”

“No, for Charlie… I mean, well, still to this day, I don’t think anyone’s ever loved him as much as that chimp.”

“That sucks…”

The waitress walked back up to the table, just as detached as before.

“Here’s your eggs, hun.”

The Great Salt Lake

I’m probably going to write about the Great Salt Lake waaaaaaaay more often than anybody would want me to. For various reasons, I’ve written a great deal about it, and even though I’m planning on using a lot of my research for a chapter of some book I’m writing, I’ll occasionally post some stuff up to remind people that the Great Salt Lake is rad. If you’re in the area, I seriously suggest you head over to Antelope Island, the Spiral Jetty and the Salt Flats. It’s worth your time for sure.