An incomplete list of dislikes

• ketchup
• wet sand
• open-toed shoes
• Ohio
• Texas
• Boston
• Boston Red Sox
  
• reaching my hand inside a bag of spare ribs
• pizza oil dripping onto my chin
• new video games
• Raisinets
• Jolleen
• programming on MTV
• too much responsibility
• work
• humidity
• packed subways
• Alistair
• jocks and jockettes
  
• stupid people
  

Monday Morning Asshole

Hola, bitches. That's right, it's the triumphant return of Monday Morning Asshole. Why? I can't say. It just feels like time. Also, because I actually haven't encountered many assholes recently. As hard as that pill might be to swallow, tis true. Of course, in the interest of full disclosure, it's somewhat difficult to experience human interaction when all one does is shift from the bed to the couch to the computer each day. No matter...I woke up this morning feeling like a hundred bucks (this is a good thing). I had family business to attend to, so I woke up at the ass crack of 1:30pm to get ready. In rifling through my drawers, I realized I'd failed to do laundry in a timely fashion. What can I say, cigarettes and nihilism occupy more time than you might think.

I settled on my Teens Against Tobacco Use t-shirt you see in the picture above. My favorite part about this shirt is the opportunity for comedic irony it offers while walking down the street smoking a cigarette. To me, irony is almost unparalleled in hilarity. It's understated yet in your face, smart and silly, admirable and ridonkulous. Great authors have employed it for centuries. Pretty much the only thing funnier than irony is Raz. Raz sucks. (Don't bitch, Raz...it's not a slogan for nothing. I don't make the rules.)

Anyway, yeah, you should see the looks on people's faces when they read my shirt, which they invariably do, then see me smoking a cigarette. It's equal parts humor, incredulity and disgust. Trust me when I say I am not one to draw attention to myself. The attention is a bit of a bugout, to be honest. Yet, I must say there's something invigorating about it.

How my friend V.A. got her name

The first thing you have to understand is my friend V.A.'s parents were huge Crocodile Dundee fans. I mean gigantic. They saw that shit in 1986 and fell in love. They not only fell in love with Paul Hogan (who couldn't?), they not only fell in love with pulling huge knives on muhfuckas ("That's not a knoife, this is a knoife!), those two crazy kids fell in love with the female lead of the movie. You see, Linda Kozlowski achieved her breakout role in '86. Sure, she'd been in some television roles, but never before had the silver screen bore witness to such...perfection. V.A.'s parents saw this; their lives were changed forever.

I'm sure you're wondering where I'm going with this. Just relax. Here's the deal in a nutshell: Crocodile Dundee slew the competition in '86 and '88. Linda Kozlowski followed this up with an unforgettable turn in Almost An Angel in 1990. V.A.'s parents were definitely hooked by this point. It was around that time they read some insider information stating Ms. Kozlowski would be starring in a new detective drama titled V.I. Warshawski.

Now, of course V.A. already had a name; it was Virginia Allen. She had no form of abbreviation at this time. Once her family learned of Linda Kozlowski's next starring role, however, - the one that would propel her to super-stardom - they decided to make a drastic change. In the fall of 1990, Virginia Allen became V.I., her name being altered to mirror the greatest movie character in cinema history.

By the time V.I. Warshawski debuted in the spring of 1991, V.A.'s parents were distressed to learn Kathleen Turner had replaced Linda Kozlowski in the starring role. By this point, the family had gotten used to calling the ten year-old by her new abbreviated moniker. It was difficult for them to return to their old ways, but still it made little sense calling their daughter V.I. when the beloved Kozlowski had abandoned the role. It was at this point the name V.A. was born.

Much has been made of this story, its details referred to fondly though the main character prefers details remain hidden. Admittedly, I had some trepidation revealing it. I felt it necessary to respect the wishes of those most closely involved, but ultimately decided a greater purpose would be served by sharing it. It is quite the story, correct? I can't help but wonder how differently things might have gone. What if there was no Crocodile Dundee? What if they hadn't grown so attached? What if Kathleen Turner had signed on for this most famous role from the beginning? My friend could very well have been renamed Kathleen. We'd be calling her Koose. So many questions...one can only ponder.

The meaning of dreams

Psychology interests me. I disagree with people who dismiss the usefulness of this science, for the ability to understand and utilize it has real-world application in nearly every facet of our everyday activities. Like right now, for instance. It's 5am and clearly I'm drunk. Anyone who knows me could surmise that much. It's interesting how the correlation between my frequency of posts and frequency of drinking (or lack thereof) goes hand in hand. It's been fairly well publicized, in both my personal encounters and on this blog, how I've decided to "turn over a new leaf" and stop drinking. For an undetermined amount of time anyway. Well, many of you scoffed --and rightfully so. The fact of the matter is I've done quite well in these past six weeks...only been drunk four times including tonight. Note the time frame of my sobriety and compare that to my hiatus between blog posts. Psychology. Is it much of a wonder that now's the time I choose to get my thoughts out via les internets?

Anyway, the genesis of this post comes from a dream I had last night. First off, I've been dreaming a lot lately. Or rather, remembering a greater percentage of my dreams. This is abnormal for me. In this particular window into my REM-self, I was standing at a urinal, peeing. Everything seemed normal initially. I whipped it out and began to go. Only, I had no control over the direction or force over which my urine stream projected. Piss was flying every which way: both in and out of the urinal, on the wall, on me. Not only that, but my penis was huge, like a fire hose. Typing this out right now and reading it back, I'm not sure I'm conveying how surreal this picture truly was.

I must have woken up shortly after the dream, or else I would not have been able to remember it (All of us dream on a consistent basis. We have no recollection of the vast majority of these images. It's only the few we wake up shortly afterwards that get committed to memory.) I recall feeling out of place -- or uncomfortable, more like it -- because I had this indefinable empty feeling. I think I fell back asleep relatively quickly, but the ordeal was still with me when i woke up the next morning (read: afternoon). What did it mean? Was it nothing? Or something? I had so many questions. Like I said, psychology interests me.

After having time to reflect and gather my thoughts, I think this dream represents my subconscious fear that I am not in control of my own life. Perhaps my generous peepee size is a metaphor for the scope of my situation, or life in general. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Who knows? The point is that dreams truly are a window into our innermost thoughts. It pays to pay attention. Psychologically speaking, I believe dreams are a way for our subconscious selves to communicate with our consciousness. If you don't pay attention, chances are you'll be at a loss. Not to say I'm not losing on a daily basis. Just saying...

Ah, fuck it. What do you think. Let a brotha know. If anyone still reads this blog, that is...