Sea-Dog's Raps

In the land without humor, the man with bad jokes reigns supreme

2008-10-08T10:23:00.000-07:00

Kids are morons. For the past ten minutes, this child has been talking about "Boosa." She's on the internet, and she's asking "is that Boosa? Boosa? What's boosa... Boosa! That's Boosa!" Then she points out to her father next to her. "Daddy, that's Boosa." What kind of inane fool can't determine that your own beloved father doesn't want to hear this meaningless drivel?!

The los angeles superior court is a land without humor. And I learned nothing from my time spent with them. It seems I was mistaken as to the nature of my transgressions against the Law. I thought I was being penalized for the totality and rate of destruction I was visiting upon the poor victims. It turns out this is not correct. It was not the viciousness and efficiency with which I consumed the beverages in question. Nay. These facts are most likely to be lauded by nearly every individual in this fine country, including most agents of the Law. Rather, it was merely the location at which I performed my beer-consuming virtuosity. So, I suppose the good news is that I am still free to consume massive amounts in record-breaking time, provided that I do so under the roof of an appropriate venue.

The debates are on. This is pretty good stuff. I think that they should have a fun category of debate. Like, every so often, they throw out a bubble-gum filler debate topic. Like... oh say... "Tapatio is better than Tabasco, isn't it?" "Palen could be the vice president of the United States of America. How surreal is that?" Palen... not enough can be said about this candidate... I wish she were running for President. Because she would have chosen a running mate foolishly (for instance, maybe she would, oh say, have selected some newbie political hack governor from some state nobody gives a sh*t about). It would be amazing. The republicans would be beginning a campaign of constantly one-upping themselves on putting bigger dip-sh*ts into the oval office. Everybody would keep voting for them just to see how good it was going to get. By like 2050, they'd have some guy that smears sh*t on the walls. Anyway... I'm tired of the way she always answers EVERY question (regardless of relevancy) by discussing her actions in AK with the energy and oil issues. We f*cking get it all ready, b**ch. You're a one-trick pony. Got it, thanks. Now come up with some more stock BS. Stock BS - if you've got it, you too can be a presidential candidate (or vice presidential candidate). I think vice-presidents should be like vice cops. They should go a little too far, y'know. Like snort some cocaine to try to prove to the dealers that they are not the president under-cover. Maybe sign some stuff out from the evidence room, and maybe misuse it, y'know, the ends justify the means and sh*t.

"Clayton, you blog on the level of an 8th grader. But not a 2008 tech-savvy 8th grader, but like a 1980's-welcome-to-the-future-see-how-poorly-you-can-utilize-this-amazing-invention-called-the-internet-8th-grader. "

I apologize, for I digress.

2008-10-03T16:21:00.001-07:00

There is a theme within the work of Kevin Costner. To define it, I have been on a bit of an academic chase through the catacombs of my own mind.
I thought the amazing film "for love of the game" showed us a brilliant insight into the solution of the challenge I seek to solve. It gave us a glimpse of the everyman vs. legend dicotomy that Kevin portrays time after time.
While Kevin's character, Billy Chapel (RHP, Detroit), is pitching his final inning against the Yankees, the announcer narrates the epic struggle for us. He notes that Chapel is not pitching against the Yankees. Rather, he is pitching against Time. It is the final game of Chapel's career. "He can used that tired old arm one last time. To push the sun back into the sky and give us one more day of summer." The announcer has latched onto this timeless theme! Billy Chapel is facing an immortal enemy in the passage of Time. The announcer has divorced the character of his incidental traits (pitcher, Tiger, man), and declared that he is now an agent of Apollonian status. Like a god of the Greeks, it is his proffession, much less ABILITY!, to hoist the sun, and push it back into the sky and give ALL OF US one last joyous day of the recently-departed summer! Meanwhile, Kevin Costner as Chapel mutters to his god. He apologizes for breaking a promise that he would never ask his god to get involved in a baseball game ("it always seemed silly,"). But he breaks the promise to his god for this simple request: "if you could just make this pain in my shoulder go away for ten minutes..." As you can see, Billy Chapel the legend is on the verge of a monumental accomplishment. Billy Chapel (as portrayed by K-Cos) the individual is just a dude. I think to ourselves, we are all just dudes. Not ace pitchers, future hall-of-famers, the stuff of Grecian myth. Kevin Costner has made the brave decision, both in his life and in his career, to stand on the brink, that frightening space shared by immortality and the mundane, and we are all the better for it.

A rock band.

2008-10-03T15:06:00.000-07:00

A fucking rock band. Magnets make the sounds and you overpower the electronic signals to make it interesting. We write pop songs and juice them up with guitar solos. No extended instrumental solos, no tonal explorations, no world rhythms nor drugs. That's not a direction you ought to go. If there's dust on it, blow it off. Rather, keep it there, see how it sounds, it may bode well for the reception. Nothing too showy, just matching suits. It goes "tssss" right before the snare (that's the beat upon which the audience claps), and the beat is drawn out with a chord on the keyboard, the bass guitar announces this approach, over and over again, denoting a pattern, a schedule, a promise. Now, how hard does that sound?

A word on a hero. Spoilers abound.

2008-10-01T15:37:00.001-07:00

In the 1992 film Bodyguard, when K-Cos speaks the line, "There is a difference between wanting to die and having no fear of death," he effortlessly and definitively declares candidacy for Least Convincing Dialogue in a Film Ever.
Well, as most of you know, it is a rare day that you will hear me bicker about the attributes of an actor of the caliber of K-Cos. K-Cos rarely plays the Legend-in-his-own-time role. Rather, he effortlessly portrays the everyman who rises to the level of mythology in the end. See Postman and Guardian for entertaining and inspirational examples of this concept. In more challenging moods, K-Cos uses his effortless ability to portray the everyman-to-legend heroics as a ploy to draw the audience in, only to ensnare and challenge the viewers. For examples of this, take in Mr. Brooks or No Way Out.

I'm getting a phone call. Expect more on the ouerve of K-Cos very soon.

If you don't believe in God, you may also like etymology.

2008-09-27T22:35:00.000-07:00

As you read this blog, I can't help but wonder. Dear reader, have you ever seen a Chevy with the butterfly doors? Stuntin' is a habit.

As I compose these sentences and sentiments, I sit on the floor of my former apartment in Sherman Oaks, California. I made this space my domain and lair for six months before I had to depart and start to stay at a pair of good friends' spot. It's a really good spot, and I'm grateful for the hospitality. But I miss when this apartment was mine. Now, my other good buddies have taken control of this sweet apartment, and as I type, they are assembling the shelves and tv stand. It's a bit funny that I moved stuff into this apartment, moved stuff out, and I'm back to moving stuff in again. I consider the warm Budweisers due payment for the work I've done. Ah, heck, I would've done it for free out of the spirit of good friendship. Weirdest part about it? This is going to be the domicile of my two good buddies, one of those buddy's lady, and their newborn son. Life is weird. Beyond weird.

I'm in the eye of a hurricane of weirdness. Actually, I'm not even in the eye. I'm in the thick of the heavy winds. I think it only appropriate that if you are my true friend you grab a burdewski, crack that sucker (and if you are truly brethren, you'll sip on a room-temp brew), slurp it down, and think of me and my southern california campaign while you listen to Baby Boy Da Prince's classic "This is the way I live." Look it up on youtube or something.

Thanks for the brotherhood boys.

This blog was way too genuine for my standards. Sheeyit.

Your blog is inexcusable.

2008-08-12T19:03:00.000-07:00

I spent a couple of days in the airport recently. I flew to Chicago, stayed in a four star hotel in the prime near-Michigan ave. location, sat front row at Wrigley and flew back to LA the next day.
My flight back to LAX was delayed about three hours, which is par for the course when it comes to me and O'Hare on the way to LAX. I thought the fates were torturing me the first time I flew to CA from O'Hare. I had to stay in the damn airport for over six hours trying to get a seat assignment on a flight to LA. Luckily, I had my portable CD player with Pavement in it. Note; Pavement was still a band back then! No Stephen Malkmus, I don't even think I knew that name yet! Back to this trip. So, I'm delayed 3 hours, which eats a big whole in my plans and now I'm sitting around with nothing to do. So I hit the "Hudson News" which sells magazines and books. I can usually burn through a magazine in much less than 3 hours, so I needed a book. We all know what a damn crapshoot it is to find a good book in an airport. You're sitting there looking at a bunch of suspenseful bestsellers one minute, and you walk out well on your way to being a lifelong john sandford, carl hiaasen, or james patterson fan. This time, I settled with a novel called "Night Probe" by Clive Cussler. I picked it partially on the grounds that it is quite possible the most dubiously titled novel of all time. The treasures only mulitply when you realize that it was published in 1981, which does NOT stop it from taking place in 1989. 1981's view of 1989 is pretty hilarious. Quebec is fighting for independence, and has allied themselves with the Russians. All of North America is in jeopardy, you don't need me to tell you that.
I think I bore my father with my high level of country bumpkin-ness. 8 years in CA and 4 of those years in a University should refine a young man, after all! Instead, I am like a child when I enter a 4 star hotel. I use the robe. Do you guys use the robe when you stay in a hotel? I found myself thinking, "I need to re-structure my life so that I have a lot of leisure time after my showers, necessitating the use of a robe." This is foolish. There is no need to shape the structure of your life to accomodate previously unknown luxuries. I asked myself, "what do I need to do while i'm in a robe that would require my robe having pockets!?!?" I countered with, "What would I need pockets for that is so all-fired important that it would justify changing out of my robe and into something with pockets?!?!"

Sherman Oaks, bastion of Scientology.

2008-08-06T12:30:00.000-07:00

"the only three things I care about in this goddamn world are me, my drums, and... you."

Before everybody goes off half-cocked thinking that my schtick is dissing legendary classic rock acts, I have to say that there is a lot of good music out there. Particularly current music. With new ish from Nas, My Morning Jacket, Stephen Malkmus (maybe I can't still count this as new), Dr. Dog, Beck, and the Hold Steady we are spoiled. And each one of these artists is in the midst of some artistic rennaissance. Not to say that their previous albums were Dark Ages, I just couldn't think of the word that means fresh and inventive, but without following a period of artistic void. "The Ark" by Dr. Dog is absolutely brilliant. Beck's album seems to be very good. It's all in the vibe of the record, because Beck hasn't really changed up his melodies for the last three albums. And his lyrics are hard to understand, so I have to read them out of the liner notes, big deal. Despite the fact that "Highly Suspicious" just set the record for most necessary song to skip ever, My Morning Jacket's new album is dope. These guys are weird, cuz they simultaneously exhibit tastemanship and then follow it up with songs that make me pucker my face up like Rene Zellwiger. ("Who the f#*& is rene zellwiger!?") The best lyrics go to Dr. Dog. They edge out the Hold Steady because their lyrics can be more easily digested without a level of ironic removal. The Hold Steady get there too... through ironic removal... I dunno, too hard to explain. I haven't actually heard Nas yet, I just assume it's dope cuz Hip Hop is Dead was awesome and because this one is so controversial, surely Nas is makin' points. Ratatat, despite all my previous beliefs, is a pretty cool band. They go for a Pink Floyd head-trip on their newest album, and I find it pretty tasty. It is good stuff to listen to while you are reading. Especially if you are reading a j-book. Like Thor by Straczynksi. Big deal I probably didn't spell that right. It's a blog. Most people probably assume I'm 14 years old. I shouldn't know how to spell right. The American public schools are to blame.

I think I'm going to drink a whiskey and coke.

I got no J-books this week. I agree with the Dr's scientific evaluation, Black Panther is pretty good. Would I read this and be excited about it if it weren't by Jason Aaron? No way. But I am glad to find that Jason Aaron writes this J with a different style than he writes Ghost Rider. If he just brought that intensity and pacing to all his J's, I'd think he was a hack. Turns out that he can write a much different style with the discussions amongst the two adversaries (Black Panther talks to his crew, while the Skrull talks to his crew). It's kinda like an episode of Star Trek or whatever, but it showcases that Jason Aaron is not a hack. It leads me also to believe that he crafted and puts on the style of Ghost Rider, which returns me to that J with renewed vigor. Have I yet bitched and moaned that the new Conan is not "bold" and "new" at all? They merely slapped a cool Joe Kubert cover on it and re-started the number. Inside is the same boring Dark Horse Conan crap they've been grinding that series to a halt with for the last 30 issues. Bad J. Captain America is awesome, even if Brubaker is treading water. Sure, lots of cool shit happens in each new J, but the serious progression of the main stories progresses like a soap opera (again, is this how j-books are supposed to be!?). Wolverine is okay. Have I yet mentioned how the first issue is exactly like 3:10 to Yuma?

I hope I can still find a girlfriend after writing a dumb-ass blog like this. Speaking of... maybe I will post some news on that very subject (if mysteriously and in the Legends of the Garrison 3rd person voice). I may need advice and the only person who can give me the advice I want to hear has become celibate for some very foolish reasons. I'm not sure if I can trust his friendly advice at all.

Led Zeppelin destroyed rock and roll. And themselves.

2008-08-04T12:39:00.000-07:00

Listen to "All of my Love." Pay particular attention to the keyboard solo (followed by an acoustic guitar/keyboard duet, then some like baroque shit, I think). If you get to this point in the song and can still manage conscious awareness of the music, you will discover that it is an absolutely tasteless inclusion. We can all stop calling rock songs over 7 minutes "Odyssies" and admit to ourselves that they really reveal a lack of creativity and taste. Led Zeppelin 1 is NOT a good album. "All of my Love" (not a song from LZ1) is a good two minute song, but the members of Led Zep do not do us the courtesy of keeping the track down to that length. Instead they stretch it out forever to fill out the 12 inches of vinyl that they made a career out of purveying to drunken 70's rockers. None of the members of LZ did anything worthwhile after the band disintegrated (unless you are a boffin who thinks that infinite Guitar World interviews counts as 'worthwhile'). Sure, I said this in mixed company and some responded, "Robert Plant has a new one. With Allison Krauss. I LIKE Allison Krauss!" "Yeah, me too." But when should a rocker have to justify an album by who they are teaming with? Yeah, Ray Charles has a good song... with Elton John, I like Elton John. No. True legends never die and they don't need to team with current-era artists to stay relevant. I will admit, that new Robert Plant is a good album. If you are 45. And you are hosting a dinner party.

When I was a kid my favorite 2 cd's were "Fly Like An Eagle" and "Band of Gypsies." I f-ing HATE jimi hendrix. You couldn't pay me to listen to Electric Lady Land beginning to finish. Well, for a thousand dollars I'd do it. And for another thousand I would chase it with "physical graffiti." Then, I'd spend the 2 thousand on booze and drown those memories forever. Anyway, I hate Hendrix, but I couldn't get enough of that live Band of Gypsies new year's album. That was after my mom forbade me from listening to rap. I was also really big into Motown. I had the 6-casette Motown Legends series. There is nothing like Motown. There will never be anything as big as Motown. When has there been a time where there was a record label that was also a genre unto itself? Who produced as many hits? And they didn't have an artist or two they promoted. They had a full-fledged army.

Speaking of armies. Anybody who's been deceptive knows something. If you need somebody to make a decision the best thing to do is present that decision to them in a much more complex agenda. Let them strip down that complex agenda into something simpler. If you are skillful they will strip this down into doing the signle thing that you wanted them to do in the first place. Now the individual you are deceiving thinks that they thought up the idea themself, and they feel great about it. Not at all like they are doing you a favor. (Yeah, being a salesman is getting to my head, big deal).
I wonder if this is what the American political system does. Washingtong is NOT full of fools. (I'm expecting objections here but I think I can handle those). They wouldn't carelessly put a moron like Bush in office without some more necessary desire ( i don't know... maybe like making a whole bunch of money, starting a couple wars, making a whole bunch more money... sinking parts of the country into economic disaster, letting the coastal liberals bear some of the brunt, watch the money change hands, and do nothing). I think it's possible that Bush himself sat in a room with some trusted supporters and agreed that he would be a hated president in order to achieve some things for him and his people. What is our reward? They create Barack Obama and give us him. He will be the president people like. Lord knows what they will do while we celebrate and cheer. Maybe I just ingested to many mind-altering substances, but I fear that the presidential campaigns are merely a stage production that allows the real power moves to occur backstage. Somehow we spend 8 years hating Bush, and can sort of accept the destruction the world suffers, because hey, I hated Bush, it was the only thing I could do...

Worst
blog
ever

Blog for the children

2008-07-22T16:05:00.000-07:00

Dr. Dog's new album came out today, if I'm not mistaken. I didn't buy it. Rather, I chose to spend eleven dollars fifty cents at the Sherman Oaks Arclight to sit through two hours forty minutes of Batman. Batman was okay. They did not need to have two villains in that movie. Batman is a supporting character in his own movies. I saw the trailer for Kevin Costner's latest masterpiece; "Swingvote." It looks really, really good. I was a little disappointed when I realized that the plot is that K-Cos is a normal ass red-neck dude who has the responsibility of casting the final vote to split the tie in the presidential election. This is interesting, given the controversy of recent elections, but I thought it was going to be way more wacky. I thought the plot was that K-Cos was a beer-guzzling average Joe who got ELECTED president by accident. That would've been a great movie. The good news is that they at least got the "beer-guzzling" portion of my vision incorporated in the movie.

I drank entirely too much over the course of the weekend. I drank Garrison amounts of booze. I started a round of beers with the boys at the local bar. Feeling daring, I chose to suggest we get some whiskey shots with our first round; on me. What I didn't expect was to discover that the boys intended to continue this shot-with-every-beer trend throughout the remainder of the night til last call. We probably even sat at the bar past our welcome. We are no so good at taking the subtle friendly hints. Hints like shouting "LAST CALL!", flickering the lights, leaving the lights on, smiling and saying, "Ok, good night boys." Luckily there were some gay guys who used their sobriety and careful understanding of the situation to engage us in conversation and draw us out into the open. Where they were probably hoping to score on some young LA fags by saying we looked like we could make it in the biz. We weren't young LA fags, and we weren't fooled by this devious second portion of their plan. Another night, I finished my 40 oz and doubled back to see my friend at the convenience store in order to purchase a 24 oz. I accidentally walked out with a 12 pack of miller instead. There weren't very many people around for me to drink with. So, nothing stopped me from drinking miller after miller. Garrison behavior, indeed.

Do Ed Brubaker's stories ever go anywhere? If you analyze the plot elements it would seem that they totally do: the titular character is dead, a character who has been dead for like 44 years of comic books is back to life, Captain America's lover is knocked up... now she's got a scalpel in her uterus.... But, somehow all of these things happen in an order and lack of climactic oomph to where it always seems like the next issue is going to be awesome, but the current one never is. Is that exactly what good comic book storytelling is?

I've made up my mind. I am going to go to a Giants game down here in LA. I don't have any Giants paraphernalia any more, so I don't know what to do. I don't like going to games without appropriate attire. What am I going to do? I'm going to buy a Dodgers t-shirt. I think I probably swore I wouldn't do this. I think I was a fool for swearing I'd never do that. I never had any Giants loyalty anyway. I hope Barry Bonds cries when he realizes that nobody will pay him the league minimum to play on their team.

Sea Dog's round of Raps in this Garrison blog Salvo.

2008-07-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

We have blogs on girl-talk, and wine-talk. Both are inexcusable. Both are rubbish. I can only chastise the blog about girl-talk, because I myself spent a hot afternoon drinking cocktails and listening riveted to the i-pod as "the night ripper" caromed against its own ADD inspired maze of pop-song nostalgia rock-techno. I got my co-worker way too drunk, she cried at work and her father picked her up and drove her to her childhood home for recovery. I think all went well, but it was a difficult day for her. I've yet to hear this new one, and I fear for how much I will enjoy it. I'm glad I'm desperately lost in love for a woman, or while enjoying it, I'd doubt my own heterosexuality.

ENOUGH about other petty fools' blogs!

I awoke this morning to find myself the victim of a peculiar brand of shame. It was several minutes after four in the afternoon, and I had imbibed various alcoholic beverages for the bulk of the previous day. This immediately stung me with a throbbing anxiety and torturous regret. However, this lasted for mere moments, as it was replaced with a more brutal and telling sorrow: the regret of the knowledge that I can no longer drink all one day and sleep all the next and revel in this power! Instead of acknowledging this gift for the blessing that it is, I now look upon it with scorn! As if this power were not some righteous divinity, but rather a mortal weakness! How my perceptions have changed. At least I didn't melt an ice-cream sandwich all over my shirt and shorts (and head, hands, arms, head, and front porch now that I picture the dilemma with the clarity of the sober cobra) like the other guy. Then I would really feel a fool.

I possess a restless soul. There is always something un-nameable that I feel I ought to do. There is some phantom chore that plagues my sense of duty and conquers my acceptance of the right to relax. I fear that this is the curse of some scourge that may corrupt the entire course of my life. I fear that this malady is called... adulthood. May the gods have mercy upon my soul...

I haven't even gotten comic books this week... what is wrong with me!? What have I become!?

For those devoid of imagination, imagine that I spoke this blog as a monologue, my clothes tattered, remnants of rusted, giant chain links manacled to my wrists. I cannot stand, my knees are in the mud, my eyes are to the heavens, it is the darkest of nights, and as I shout, "What have I become!?" a giant vein of lightning pierces the sky, splitting the eternal blackness in two.

In other news, I am going to go to Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles. I'm going to hold off on waffles, I don't feel I have to make the restaurant live up to its namesake every time I go. Nor would I expect apples and bees, every time I go to the eatery which derives its name from those two things. No, I think Roscoe just named his fine locations that as merely an offer, or perhaps a promise. Waffles, are good, but easily done. Chicken is a fine delicacy, and perhaps because of its mistaken simplicity it is not always taken seriously enough. So, I will focus on the chicken. It will be good.

I am going to try a place famous for its burritos here in the valley. Can I help myself for being nothing but skeptical? A review online calls it "BUSY BUSY BUSY" while its ingredients are "fresh fresh fresh" and overall it is "inexpensive." These clues lead me to two distinct possibilities. 1) it is delicious like los pinos. 2) it is trendy like tacos moreno and therefore completely overrated and impossible to deal with due to hordes of drones lined up for miles because of some review they saw in the Good Times. We'll see.

So I blogged about food, get off my f*#*ing back all ready!

Trouble with FM radio

2008-06-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

No matter how many good songs are recorded, and no matter how many radio stations are up and running, you can always find yourself in a situation where there are no good songs playing. One can flip through every station, and the only two songs in the rotation at that time are "Bad to the Bone," and Carlos Santana.
Allow me to note that I don't have any big issue with "Bad to the Bone." George Thorogood and the Destroyers have earned their niche in rock n roll history. When I saw him perform in Mountain View, CA he boldly and selflessly stated, "If anybody is going to get arrested for rock n roll tonight, it might as well be me." There was no threat of any arrests for rock n roll that evening, but I don't think that bothered George one bit. He's just ready to go downtown in custody of the boys in blue for rock n roll, because that's how strongly he stands in conviction for rock n roll. I appreciate that. It's like someone in Canada saying, "I would die for my country." My original point was, if you are on a bar and you and a mostly naked chick are pouring tequila on yourselves on a school night and "Bad to the Bone" comes on the jukebox, so be it. Walking down the street on a sunny day, it can be a bit too much song for the moment.
Now for Senor Carlos Santana. The hombre who toca la guitar. It is an interesting fact that Carlos Santana was the FIRST musician to fuse two previously completely separate styles of music! That combination, as we well know, is the union of the completely obnoxious and the utterly unoworthy of listening to styles of music. It took a real innovator to have the heart and courage to bring those together. I guess San Francisco in the 60's was the perfect experimental time for such risk and invention.
Another bothersome element of Carlos' position in the music industry is that all different varieties of radio programs love to play his songs. He can be heard on programs dedicated to playing R&B, classic rock, rock, alternative, adult contemporary, and even blues! You cannot escape. He stands among Castro and Dr. Doom in the halls of megalomaniacal fame.
Any wise-ass who wants to point out that Carlos' touch, taste, and craftsmanship finally paid off when he sculpted the masterpiece "Europa," can consider themselves beaten to the punch. That is an amazing tune. Even the simplest of morons can create something beautiful I suppose. The poisonous licks and constant airplay of that song that goes, "Maria, Maria" alone undo all the good that "europe" did to lighten Carlos' filthy reputation. I hate Santana, and I love "europa." If Carlos has anything to say about this, let him step right up, and I am not scared of him.
In the end, I am just curious; is it too much to ask for the Commodore's "Night Shift" to be playing? Please?

If you weren't already, would you have what it takes to become Garrison?

2008-06-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

I would neither encourage nor accept any person's attempt to define Garrison. So, I beg you forgive this old soldier for his ponderous musings.

A man of the Garrison's strength is not determined by the gauge of his weapon. No, rather, it is my conviction that a man of the Garrison's might is drawn from the Knowledge that he fires only upon those who would fire upon him.

The mission of the Garrison is a lonely one. And yet, in these times, I see there are comforts fortuitously falling upon the Garrisonites. Though, a Garrisonite who craves comfort is not truly worthy of the name, I feel that these small blessings may be due the respective Garrisonites after all.

Perhaps the mission, undertaken by so few brave souls, has been a war waged so long and so hard, that members of the general populace have taken note. Aye, taken note and taken heart to assist these daring men in what small way they can.

Originally, only with a centralized HQ, could the men of the Garrison stand back-t0-back and defend their ground. Only through countless artillery shells spent, could they seize advantage of a chance to take initiative and move the warfront outward. Garrisonites infiltrated foreign lines so deeply that no man had dared imagine such bold action possible!

The visions and terrors I myself have seen at the frontlines of the war the men wage... I shudder to think of such an impact as the tales I could tell would crush you with, dear reader. Rest well, knowing men of the Garrison toil at the Warrior's work, while you may live a life of frivolity and peace.

Prediction and probability are aspects of judgment that have long been stymied when applied to the wanton chaos that governs the Garrison. Nevertheless, those with a bent for prognositcation state a belief that the Garrisonites position themselves so that they may stand poised to conquer the Globe Entire! Only time and keen observation can tell what will become of Garrisonism United.

Modesty, temperence, certainty. Never have these concepts been spoken of as virtues among the Garrison. Nor shall they ever!

I tell you, Philosopher, that you will never determine a means to define the set of all things Garrison. Rather, one can only hear the facts, and deem a person, locale, topic, or event Garrison or not.

Write a blog in less than eight minutes!

2008-06-02T19:42:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine urged me to write more. I have less than 8 minutes to compose a blog. In the beginning, I believed that every blog must be nothing less than epic. I don't know why I specify that I believed that in the beginning, because I believe it now. My position on blogs has never wavered. Always, always write blogs that will be immortalized.

Like for instance, the blog of Dr. P that rose to the most envied spot in the hall of fame when he carved the following letters into stone:

"Tears. Welling. I said to myself, if you cry on this plane over this book, there’s no way you can go back to th Garrison. Fortunately another coworker who was sitting on the plane next to me was crying over “Bucket List,” so I could call him a girl and hide my own girlish tendencies."

A round of applause is appropriate at this juncture, gentlemen. Anything I could say would merely trivialize the beauty and indisputable truth of this statement.

Breakneck subject change: I realize I hate my job. This is probably not so troubling to anybody, but myself. It is probably generally believed that I always hate my job. People probably come to this conclusion, because for 3 of the 4 last years, I undoubtedly hated every job I've ever held. Maybe I have no ability to respect the hand that feeds me. Maybe I am too stubborn. Maybe jobs suck!

It struck a truly poignant chord in me when I realized that I hated the manic pace the job required, coupled the frantic, inefficient methods my co-worker/manager takes to solve them. One third of the time I work, she is not present. These days go fine, and I forget all about how I wanted to abandon my job and go to the park to get sun, fun and exercise. Then, the tumult begins again when she returns to work. One of my favorite things that she does is lean right over me and correct what I'm doing on the computer key-stroke by keystroke, mouse-click by mouse-click! It's brutallion stallion.

Maybe what I ought to do is quit with a moment's notice, and ride the wild winds Northward to the land of the Holy Cross.

-Sea-Dog.

A day for solemn modesty.

2008-05-08T12:16:00.000-07:00

I face today with the fearful and exciting prospect of nothing to do. I narrowed down my options to a select few choices.

1) Combine enough variations of hard alcohol and my own biological physiology that I whizz and drop duke on myself, then lose consciousness, wallowing in my filth in the parking lot of any expensive restaurant I could find.
2) Blow up every single person on my myspace friend list and then text message them too, just in case.
3) Look for a job, do laundry, search out nuggets.
4) Pitch one of my movie ideas to one of the abundant porno crews out here, add softcore pornographic elements to my idea and break into the industry that way.

Option 1 was obviously the most enticing and all my instincts and lust made me yearn for this option. But, there was a certain pathetic easiness to this choice. Option 2 also smacked of pathetic loneliness and childishness. 3 was absolutely ridiculous, seeing as how I don't have anything to do tomorrow either, and I'm certainly not going to achieve anything when the fire is just barely under my ass. For the record, I do not intend to attend my current employer's scheduled shifts any more. I want to get that thrill of the immediate resignation without notice. It is a fine maneuver and one I suggest every teenager give a whirl, if not every adult as well. Option 4 is a pretty serious endeavor, and I like the hell out of it. I'm going to put that on the back-burner, think of a way to stack enough capital to make it a realistic opportunity, and save it for when I'm really feelin' the hustle.

Then, like lightning, I was stricken with a realization that led to more realizations. I should focus on rocking. This made me realize that I was not focusing on rocking. I realized that I should always be focused on rocking, and I really realized I wasn't living up to my own expectations.

Philosophy, basketball, & food. A day.

2008-04-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

An analytical philosophical friend of mine, made a judgment about my decisions and judgments, so I will treat his thesis thusly:

1 - A person who would attempt to take a charge in a pick up game of basketball only if that selfsame person watches too much televised professional basketball.
2 - Sea-Dog attempted to take a charge in a pick up game of basketball.

Therefor - Sea-Dog watches too much televised professional basketball.

I argue against the first premise (1). My friend is failing to account for times when an overly aggressive individual necessitates such action due to the fact that they are ruining a perfectly fine game by driving and using physical intimidation, scoring every time. Even triple teaming this player would not deter him, and he would not share the ball with other teammates. Showing him one would stand their ground and stop the drive was the intent of the attempt. Therefor, I rule that premise one is false!

However I do credit my friend for one success. The conclusion is true. So the argument is trivially true. One would hit closer to the core of the issue if one said -

1 - a person who watches nearly every playoff game watches too much pro b-ball.
2 - Sea-Dog watches nearly every playoff game.
Therefor Sea-Dog watches too much pro b-ball.

In other news, I got in an argument with my boss at work. Those who have known me for a long time, should not be surprised at this. It is a foregone conclusion at this point that if Sea-Dog has to work for people who do not run a tight ship, treat Sea-Dog with the respect they would expect for themself from Sea-Dog, he will be barkin' and yappin' loudly and aggressively. Most likely this will be in an ostentatious manner with the flag of JUSTICE waving high and mightily above Sea-Dog's head. The true and bitter plight of this situation, is that a telephone call was screened on Sea-Dog's brick during this argument squabble. That call was a Temp-agency informing Sea-Dog of an opportunity for Sea-Dog to work a better, more professional job at higher pay than the one he's currently slaving under. By the time the contention ceased and Sea-Dog could contact his rep, the position had been given to another, likely less-worthy temp-for-hire. Many F-words were shouted during and after this altercation. I hate my job. I am in fact Sea-Dog, but the situation is so revolting I can barely bring myself to tell it in the appropriate first-person fashion.

So, I played lots of b-ball at the Sherman Oaks Van Nuys park. My team and I won the first game of 3-on-3, so we picked up 2 new-comers and ran 5-on-5, earning 3 more victories. Celebramos! I feel great. There is no end to the list of rewards from such a day well-spent. If you have to means to do so, I think you should. It is... so choice.

I miss Santa Cruz, CA. I miss many aspects of it, and one close to the forefront of my thoughts this day is a little place to acquire burritos called "los pinos." So, as I have done in the past, I purchased up all the ingredients of one of their veggie burritos and lived with a poor substitute for the real thing.
One good aspect of this venture is that you get to eat a nigh-limitless amount of burritos for the price of about two from a tacqueria. One bad aspect of this venture is that you buy in such bulk that you have to eat burritos 3 times a day, day in day out to make use of the perishable ingredients. One good aspect of this venture is that you are eating burritos 3 times a day, day in day out. It's a mixed bag. The bottom line is that I miss the old haunts, the old friends, and the memories that used to be my daily life.
Oh! I like when I am broke. Because it forces me to buy cheap ingredients, and I had forgotten that the really cheap, weird Mexican brands of salsa are always the most fantastic. The more non-descript or unfamiliar the label, the greater the likelihood of a thrilling surprise when you open up that jar.

This is what we do when we don't have to work.

2008-04-17T15:40:00.000-07:00

My thoughts run wild as I stride back to the basketball courts after Friday's game-ending injury. Last Friday, I stood my ground, hoping for a charging violation, thus stopping the opponents' unstoppable offense, and getting a chance to drive the ball back our way. Well, when the collision came it wasn't my chest or shoulders as I'd hoped that bore the brunt of the impact. Instead, I was instantaneously dropped to the ground. My friendly teammates eagerly ran over to help me up, appreciating my efforts, but I waved them off, due to the realization that I had no sensation in my right leg yet. While sitting immobile upon the court, I felt the buzzing circulation find its way back to my knee and I realized I'd really gotten it good in the leg. That aggressive opponent had blasted me right in the knee with his knee to reward me for my tough D. I tried to walk it off. Instead, I'd spend nearly a week walking it off. It cost me nothing more than a limp and some on-and-off annoying pain, but it also cost me my daily trips to the basketball courts. That is frustrating, because now I have far fewer free days to make it down. So I wasted a good four days that could have been filled with basketball glory the likes of which can be found in films like Glory Road, Coach Carter, Hoosiers, and the Air Up There.

In preparation, I'm shaking off any lingering trepidation, and I'm standing on steady legs. To bolster my chances of success in today's games, I am sporting white shoes with long white socks that go well up my calf. It should strike an imposing image for anybody that fears white ballers with 70's era basketball fashion sense.

I wanna have blog fun too, guys!

2008-04-10T16:58:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I'm going to have a clever theme or subject for my blog. It's probably going to be a waste of precious blog real estate, resembling 40,000 teenagers' worthless blogs. Only, I'm a twenty-five year old man, so I should have something better to do. I suppose it's largely to stop blowing up my friends' myspace pages so much. And I get to rattle off all the stuff I think and NOBODY has to read it if they don't want to! Blogs are the perfect cure for people who talk too fucking much.

I bet I will talk about movies and comic books in my blog. Often. Very often.

I looked over my shoulder to the left, and found that the Sherman Oaks branch of the Los Angeles Public Library (www.lapl.org), had removed the graphic novels section (graphic novel is a fancy word for J-books). Now it was chock full of Manga. Manga is a fancy word for J-books that are not as interesting, very popular, aimed at teens, and all drawn in the exact same annoying style. Apparently, they are all imports from Japan, too. I dunno, I hate that shit. Can't stand it. Luckily, I looked to my right, and my horror ended. They had chosen a more elite location for the graphic novels (J-books) in the teen fiction section. Which is great, except I'm a twenty-five year-old man rummaging in the teen fiction section of the library, looking like a Pederas (petter-ass?). They have the dopest selection of Essentials. I'm working my way through Ghost Rider Volumes 1 & 2.

I saw Rocky IV for the first time in my adult life. Now the hazy memories have been replaced with distinct, accurate impressions of the movie. I think I always thought Rocky III was the first one, and that the first two were horrid sequels. When I was a kid those first two films had it all wrong. Nothing fit! Apollo Creed was a bad guy... Rocky didn't get to wear the star-spangled boxing shorts... there was a plot involving character development and romance. None of the shit that a little kid appreciates about Rocky.
Let's talk about Rocky IV though. This was a strong movie. It opened without the distinctively large "Rocky" title-scroll and without the brass fanfare that the other films begin with. It gave us a taste of Rocky III's "Eye of the Tiger", and had a modest little title. I was beginning to wonder what was up with this Rocky. Luckily, that title sequence was about the only modest thing in the movie. Rocky has to train to face Ivan Drago, who just killed Apollo Creed in a round 2 victory. Rocky must be all torn up about this (Although Stallone does little to portray this). I suppose we were supposed to learn all we need to know about Rocky the character's motivations from the theatrical trailer.

"He could've stopped the fight. He could've saved his best friend. Now the only thing he can't do...

Is walk away."

So, Rocky goes to Russia and trains the old-fashioned way. By lifting wood, pulling a sleigh through the snow, ditching his Russian chaperones, running up a mountain, and growing a fearsome beard. In contrast, Dolph Lundgren is physically conditioned in a high-tech environment, using all types of scary Russian boxing-training computerized equipment, and does not grow a beard. I won't spoil the end for you.

Ah, fuck it. SPOILER ALERT - Rocky might not have won if Lundgren had grown a beard during the training. There's a lot of power in facial hair. What little I have leaves me feeling terrified of how powerful I would be if I could grow any more.