I Love Me Some Crazy

I have a problem.

It seems that in order to be really attracted to a woman she has to be a bit crazy and have serious hurt potential. San Francisco provides a vast bounty to choose from. It offers up everything from Serious Daddy Issues to Attention Deficit Disorder to the Classic Manic Depressive with serious committment issues. They're interesting and complicated creatures that hold my attention far better than sane, well-adjusted women. I'm not happy about this but it's a reality that I've had to accept about myself. It's probably a biproduct of growing up with a mentally imbalanced mother for so long. At any rate I'm trying to ignore my instincts and stay the hell away from them long enough to get to know somebody who is well-adjusted and genuine. Unfortunately my brain tends to register this as dull even when it isn't. I tend to rely on close and trusted friends to meet them and give me an unbiased opinon as to whether they might be good or bad for me. In the last few months I've made a bit of a breakthrough that has enabled me to recognize if I'm making a bad choice or being drawn to an unstable lady that might blow up in my face. Now, armed with crazy detecting radar my new mission is to find one of these saneies rather than one of the crazies and stick with them long enough to feel connected. The problem is that in order to overcome the attraction boost that a crazy woman has the "sanie" has to be physically more attractive than her looney counterpart. I may have to become an accomplished musician or invent something brilliant that will make me a boat-load of money.

Perhaps there is some mildly crazy and compatible lady out there for me. You'd have to be at least a bit touched in the head to get involved with Krankiboy. I realize that I just spoke about myself in the third person. Normally I feel that is a right that should be reserved for mobsters and professional basketball players but it amuses me and it's my blog.

Somebody should create an Alcoholics Anonymous type group for people who continue to date crazy people who are bad for them. It could be a very lucrative venture to make a 12 Step program to help people wean themselves off of dating people who end up hurting them. That way I could call my sponsor if felt myself slipping and the urge to call that nutjob narcisist chick back and my sponsor could talk me down.

"Kranki, don't do it, my sponsor, Harold, would say. It will feel good for a while but you've come so far to throw all your progress away."

My imaginary sponsor would then try and set me up with fantastic women who had been pre screened by a staff of experts to ascertain that they are free of madness, mania, or compulsive hurtful behavior.

Maybe Tough Love would be a good name for the program. Although that might be too generic.

Hi Elaine!

Hi Elaine the Pirate!

How's your weekend going so far? I had a pleasant but no sparks date with a nice, mature, stylish woman but the chemistry only really extended to the conversation and it wasn't one of those "I'd like to suck her face" connections. I tend to think that if it's not all the way there that it's much neater not to try and squeeze sexy from a stone even if the stone is a lovely person whose company you enjoy. Definitely one to place in the 'Friend' file, rather than the 'Naked Fun' file.

In the past I was worried that people I know would read my blog and make judgments about me but now that I have a more cozy and 'select' readership I'm going to say fuck it and just write whatever I damn well please once again.

My energy towards dating is really starting to wane so I'm sure the blogs will get progressively more amusing, more bitter and more kranki. It's just lovely to have a written record that my grandchildren will one day be able to treasure and read aloud to their children at Christmas time.

I'm still thinking about the space suit. You see, Joe, Elaine is a talented and crafty lady. I'm still doing a mental cost benefit analysis of having a handmade semi-personalized spaceman outfit and just what such a delightful garment should look like. It will at the very least be useful if I decide to alienate my friends and family and dedicate myself to roaming the greasy, city streets. It will make it far easier for the San Francisco locals in my hood to both nickname and identify "Crazy Spaceman Dood."


Talk to you later, Elaine.

hugs and such,

Kranki

Abstract Blue Lines

So, yeah. Here are some abstract shots I took in the nocturnal section of the Berlin Zoo. It was too hard to shoot the animals in the super low light so I messed around with some cool light effects.

I'm trying to decide if I like them enough to blow up and frame and if so which ones would go well together.

Man, kind of a boring blog tonight. At least there were pictures.

Babble Time

Met up for a date with a lovely designer I met. There was good coffee and a nice mix of serious and comedic conversation. We even discovered we have a mutual friend that neither of us knew we had that doesn't even live in our city. Small world. She asked some questions that went into serious territory for me. I was doing most of the talking and things got a tad bit heavy duty and I wasn't totally comfortable sharing so much but I also felt at ease and figured that if it was going to work out she'd hear the stuff sooner or later. I forgot the three or four things that I actually wanted to ask her. I walked her back to her bicycle and for some reason got really nervous. I didn't know if she wanted a good bye hug or a kiss on the cheek or if she just wanted to get the hell out of there. I proceeded to start to just ramble in a caffeinated blur of comments trying to perhaps be amusing and lighten the mood and prolong the time we were there so I could read her body language. This seemed to really confuse her which made me more nervous and caused me to talk even faster with slightly disjointed trains of thought whose connections were barely understandable to my own mental synapses. I guess I must have liked her and found her intelligence and sense of style slightly intimidating. I pretty much crashed the date into a brick wall. I'll send her an email and attempt to asses the damage and try to make a clever self deprecating salvage of the events. I could just be being really hard on myself. Perhaps she found it endearing? Doubtful. Next time I'm just going to fake confidence instead of being myself. People say to be yourself but that's a bunch of bullshit. You can get there eventually but until you start to grow on somebody and they become attached to you and dismiss your baggage as lovable quirks it's best to fake a blend of self-confidence and depth.

I just wish I'd recorded audio of my date. The level of babble was impressive. Maybe even a personal best. Perhaps I'll bring a voice recorder on the next date I go on. Then I could figure out how to post audio for your listening amusement. Somebody should get enjoyment out of my awkward derailed attempts at romance.

Effort, Fear & Sandwiches

Is it inherently more worthwhile to do something difficult than it is to do something easy?

Does it matter if nobody else notices that you did something difficult or does it only matter what you think about your own abilities?

Is doing for others that you don't know altruistic and unselfish or just stupid?

If you're afraid to do something, does that indicate that you should do it to grow as a human being?

Why build anything that you yourself won't live to enjoy?

Does a sandwich taste better if you have to wait in line for an hour before you get it?

New Logo

A new logo for a new blog? Or perhaps just a bit of inspiration to write for a month or so before getting bored and going back to a mainly dormant blog state. Most everybody I know who had a blog back in the day no longer had one. It was once a little cult from which I met many lovely and talented Aussies. I'm glad there are a few of us left. The taste of 2004 blog stardom was sweet but those days of virtual wine and cyber roses have gone the way of the Do Do. Enough with my yammering blogstalgia.

My kind and talented friend, Joe whipped up the new logo. Did I already say that he's talented? I worked with the kid before he was a profeshanul back in the day. We didn't get to finish the kids book we started but I hope to work on something with the lad from Oz in the future. You can find his stuff over at...
The Shiggy Blog

Tell him Kranki sent ya!

Role Reversal

I went to a party at a neighbor's place earlier this evening and I had the pleasure of having a cool chick use a line on me. The experience was so unfamiliar to me that I didn't even realize it was a line until a few moments later. She put her fingers on my chest and said "I hear you took some cool pictures in Berlin. Maybe tonight you can give me a 'slide show'." It was even accentuated by her lightly rubbing and squeezing my shoulder and giving a coy smile. Oh double meaning. A bit crass but also clever.

I think I'm finally growing up because I declined the offer initially and then politely declined a second time when she followed me as I headed out the door to go home, asked me why I was leaving, and indicated that her room was where she wanted me to be right then.

Okay, so, why did I decline? I declined because she lives directly across the street, and that hasn't worked out so well for me in the past... with the last "girl" that lived in her apartment. If I made the same mistake a second time, with somebody who also clearly is not a long term prospect I think it would be appropriate to blast my brain with electroshock paddles. As a wise character from the feature film DC Cab (starring Mr. T) once said... "Don't let ya dick, run ya life." Sage advice for the ages for men of all ages.

At any rate, I liked the attention I got. It was a good little refreshing ego boost. I wondered briefly what it would be like to be female where you have lines used on you and to be the one who was typically approached. It would probably get old fast in some cases but still feel validating if it was attention from somebody you found attractive, right?

The Search for the Bike

My good friend S hustled all over town with me walking (so sad) to six different bike shops and finding just about nothing that was what I was looking for. I almost went with a single speed which would have left me walking the bike up the steep hills to Noe Valley.

I ended up riding a bunch of bikes and then just going to a shop I like where they will build a bike up from scratch and modify it with all the parts I want. It ain't cheap but it should yield a very sexy silver and black piece of rideable art.

I will have to keep it handcuffed to me at all times.

Bike Hunting

I'm shopping for a bike to replace the expensive one that was stolen from me back in June. I wish I could place a curse on the crap stains posing as humans that snatched it. Maybe you can wish some evil on them with me. Let's all hold cyberpunk hands and chant. Or better yet wish me some good bike karma for my next purchase to stay close to me.

I find bikes very alluring for some reason. They have a certain sleek, aesthetic beauty to them that makes me wish I had a huge garage where I could own a dozen different kinds.

This one on the left was quite cute and light. Pretty decent price at $475 too. It's a rebuilt used bike that might be everything that I need for commuting. I was thinking of buying it but it's one of the first that I've looked at. I'm tempted to buy it just to have it and then have another bike custom built. I'm pretty lost here without a bicycle.

I really should learn how to fix and build them myself but it seems to be pretty involved if you want to be able to do more than change a tire and tube or adjust the brakes. I've never been the kind of person that takes things apart and puts them back together. I also thing guitars are beautiful but I can ride a bike a lot better than I can play a guitar. Maybe one day I'll get that big bike garage. Are you listening sugar mommas of the world?

Back in SF

The trip is over and Berlin and NYC are starting to fade into memories. I do have 2135 pictures which have kept me quite busy, deleting, uploading, selecting, color correcting and transferring them to my laptop.

Being back feels like a bit of a let down. While it's wonderful to see my bed and my dogs and some of my friends again there is a bit of an emotional dip that comes when any grand undertaking comes to an end.

I'm looking forward to grabbing a beer with my buddy tonight and bringing my dogs out to the bar where they are treated like canine royalty.

For the moment I'm off to test out a potential new bike to replace my brand new and stolen steed that was lost before I left for my summer excursion. City bus travel is not sexy. Necessary at times, but not sexy. I did get to overhear a strange conversation snippet. A girthy fifty-something mustached black dude was talking to the forty-something black female bus driver. It sounded like a very dirty conversation at first.

He: "I am telling you, you are miss-missing out!"

She: "I ain't missing out on anything."

He: "I could show you the way. It would be a fingerlickin' good time."

She: "It just ain't up my alley?"

He: "Girl, I bet you ain't had anything good up yo alley like what I could give you."

She: "Why you givin' me such a hard time just because I'm a vegetarian?"

He: "It just ain't right."

Ah, bus conversations. If I was going to ride them more I could do an entire blog about them.

Almost Semi-Famous

I like traveling back to NYC. I have dozens of friends here and when I let them know I'm coming to town it gives me the illusion of having semi-celebrity status. I enjoy the delusion that I fall somewhere between Kobe Bryant and what's his name from that show on the celebrity spectrum. This time I went one step further and had some friends fly from the left coast to meet me. It's always tough to cram in seeing everybody that I want to catch up with. Usually you can tell people "Hey, I'll be at the Blankity Bar on this day at this time. Come soak up my magic and mystery then."

Now however there is The Baby Factor. Some of my friends have these little humans that need to be cared for and they rarely like to bring them out to bars. Then you have your pregnant friends. Pregnant on purpose is certainly better than pregnant in college, but it still makes for a hard sell when trying to entice them join you at bar. Then you try and make drinks into dinner and your poor and alcoholic friends get bent out of shape. It isn't easy trying to make yourself feel more popular than you are so I recommend you either don't try or just take the easier route and be just become rich and famous. Otherwise you'll spend all your vacation time catching up with old friends and no time to do the important things, like, wandering aimlessly about buying random things that you have no room for in your luggage and taking photographs of street art and strange-looking people.

Peaches & Leaches

There seem to be two categories that friends fall into. There are the Peaches; sweet, inviting and ready to enjoy types of friends that are refreshing, healthy, and good for you.

Then there are the Leaches. The unfortunate friends who want to unrepentantly suck you dry of your life blood, don't give you anything back, don't apologize for being draining and can end up leaving you covered in scars and stricken with hepatitis.

Peaches:

Be kind and caring to the peaches in your life. Nurture them with kindness, sunshine and compassion. Appreciate them for their fine qualities as much as they appreciate you. Don't drop them and give them bruises. Savor them and enjoy their flavor.

Leaches:

Avoid the murky waters that these parasites live in whenever possible. If they get close enough they will attempt to cling to your skin and bleed you. Quickly pull them off before they can fully attach. If they're persistent and prove difficult to tear away then you may have to burn them off. Don't get angry or judge them too harshly. That's just what leaches do.

Note: Peaches sometimes have leaches hiding inside them. Good luck out there.

Surfin' Berlin

So, I've been getting prepped for my trip to Berlin and I was turned on to a site called CouchSurfers. I'm going to be in Berlin for about 16 days and I hoped to have the chance to meet some locals and learn the best places and grab some unique experiences. I've gotten pretty good with my camera from just shooting around with it so I will hopefully capture some good images.

Unfortunately so far no Berlin folks have been able to host me. I'm sure they get tons of requests to sort through and since I'm not a duo of perky chics that might count against me.

If you blog readers have any Berlin connections I'd be happy to have them. I'll be spending most of my time in a hostel most likely but travel is all about the unique people you get the opportunity to meet. I'm hoping to shoot some of them and get some more practice taking portraits. I have a distinct feeling that there will be no lack of subject matter and photo inspiration in Berlin. The guide books are lovely, but they won't direct me to the underground party scene, let me make dinner in somebody's home or discover somebody's friend's weird band that's playing out on a boat.

Now I'll never be a Ninja.

The dream might be dead. Today my idea to one day dedicate myself to the ancient art of ninjitsu and ascend to master level, hit another serious snag.

Last week I saw some monkey rings at the playground and was tempted to try them. I should probably make it clear what monkey rings are. They are not rings made from monkey meat nor or they jewelry that monkeys might enjoy wearing. They're just like monkey bars but in ring form. I got a bit more than half-way before falling.

Today while arriving at the park a trio of martial arts workout clothing dressed people were holding boards and teaching people how to break them.

Bald karate instructor dude." Would any of you like to learn to break a board today?"

I'm feeling all Tom Cruise cocky so I say...

Me: Can I do it after a few beers?

B.K.I.D.: I recommend before.

And this almost seemed like a challenge. I, of course, know that one day when I decided to stop and pay a minute of attention to art of ninjitsu and away from whatever the hell my life is dedicated to now, I will become a ninja of incredible skill. So I'm amused by the challenge so I vounteer just to show off a tidbit of my future ninja skills. It's just a wooden board. I can break that with an elbow strike. They talk to me and walk me through it. I do a few non-contact runs and then finally my body posture is good and my knee opening rotation is good. I give it a whack. Hmmm, didn't break. More ideas from a super butch female instructor on how to break the board. I follow the advice, I focus that I'm going to hit right through and past the board. I focus my energy and, as instructed, I let out a loud war cry of power. I rotate to my power point, spin my elbow with a fierce force of confidence, swivel my hips throgh the strike and with a loud GeHHHAAAWW!!! I strike the board as hard as I can.

"Ponk." All that results is a sad, muted, "ponk" sound. The board looks at me as if to taunt me with it's girth. I then notice that I have a huge welt on my elbow where it hit the wood. I don't know if I'm even going to be able to learn the art of scaling buildings with my bare hands or weilding a katana with the precision of a surgical scalpel. I may not even ascend high enough to open my own do-jo. I'm pretty distraught now that I'm down further on the male delusion scale. Time to embrace my limitations and accept that all I'll ever be is a jet figher pilot/award-winning novelist/chef.

Bottom of the Hill with Bob Log III & Tammy

I was feeling social but didn't want to go out. I got home to discover that the neighbors were having a pre Cinco de Mayo cookout party in our backyard. There were a few cool people there and despite feeling less than energetic I found that as the drinks went down mood magically improved. I had been thinking that I should try and make a few new guy friends since I live in a world where I breathe equal parts estrogen and oxygen on a daily basis. Out of the blue I hear some guy mention that he's going to a show to see Bob Log III. Huh? I know Bob. I like that guy. I hung out at his place and watched strange VHS of James Brown's TV show where he ends the show by telling the audience that he's basically going around the corner to buy a bunch of cocaine. Then I think I did my impression of a squirrel giving a blow job. It's a good impression.

At the venue, my new guy friend and I got in free. I guess he's a sound engineer there part of the time. Perks are nice. Then we got some cheap drinks from his bartender friend. Then my friend wandered off to chat with the guy doing sound at the show so I struck up a conversation with some guy sitting at the end of the bar who said he was from Topeka, Kansas. Because he was both drunk and from Kansas I could only understand about two out of every three words he said.

Me: Did you come to see the music?

Drunk Topekan Guy: Well I carbleh over here smame to drink ojin my friend flankel. Ha Ha Ha Ha.

I smiled and nod along.

Me: I hear ya.

Then his very drunk friend and/or wife comes over. She's simply wasted to the point where she's beyond friendly. She was a chunky gal but fortunately I could understand what she was saying because it was rather amusing. She immediately tells me that her name is Tammy and starts chatting with me. Then after about twenty seconds she looks at me and tells me...

Tammy: You. I think... no, wait. I know.... I love you.

Me: Thanks. It usually happens like that. Did you know you'd fall in love when you left the house today?

Drunk Topekan Guy: Thing about mamzen is that navla Tammy does.

Me: Oh? She does?

Drunk Topekan Guy: Yup. For hozette.

Tammy: (Laughing) That's not true!

Me: What's not true?

Tammy: What he just said.

Me: Oh. Of course. I have to tell you, I can barely understand what he's saying.

Drunk Topekan Guy: Why don't yabbin' what I'm saying?

Me: Yeah, see. What you just said... I missed it. And this is coming from somebody who has no problem understanding drunk Australians on speed.

Tammy: I definitely love you.

Me: Good. That's a good thing to be certain about.

Just then some guy uses the ATM machine near us and Tammy yells at him.

Tammy: Hey! How much money have you got?!

This scares the confused guy off. She does this again a minute later to a friendly young woman too. Then she looks over at me and points at me.

Tammy: How about you go have sex with me now?

Me: How exactly would that work?

Tammy: You and I go to your place and get naked and we do some suck and some fuck and get naked.

Me: So we get naked then do it and then get naked again?

Tammy: Yes. I'm trying to get my husband here to be a swinger but he can't do it.

Me: Too bad that his Kansas morals are holding him back.

Tammy: No, he's not really my husband. I'm just kidding.

They talk with each other for a bit as I order another drink. Then Tammy is right back to business. This gave me some time to come up with an escape strategy.

Tammy: So are you going to take me home?

Me: Well, sadly, ever since I lost my penis in Desert Storm, I just come out to enjoy the music.

Drunken Topeka Guy: That musta been sagerly.

Me: Absolutely, it was sagerly. I'm going to go up to the stage now and be somewhere else but I want to thank you.

Tammy: Why for?

Me: You've been very entertaining.

Tammy: I could be more entertaining.

Me: Yeah, no penis here. Remember? Have a good night.

Drunken Topeka Guy: Casa franz, buddy!

Me: Casa franz to you too, dude.

Bob played an awesome one man band slide guitar and drums set with banter the crowd enjoyed. Girls sat on his knees while he played, he was carried around on a raft and some chick stirred his scotch with her nipple. A good night all in all. I got sleepy and, as Bob Log III jammed his way off the stage on his wireless, I said hello and asked him to give his lovely wife, Gabby a wet one from Krankiboy. I wish I'd had the energy to have a drink with him after the show and catch up a bit but Tammy chat and the free flowing drinks had tuckered me out. Another night at Bottom of the Hill.

Wandering in My Neighborhood

I went for a walk to the drug store and snapped a few pictures along the way. I'm still just a baby photographer but I hope I can learn to snap like a semi-pro. Please feel free to comment.

My New Hero

So I was out at the skate park near my house on Sunday when my new hero rolled onto the scene. He was a diaper-clad little fellow with just two years of life under his belt.









He was there with his dad getting some skateboarding lessons.
His father would give him a good push to get him going and he was off.

It's pretty impressive considering I'd fall on a curve like that.

He's going to have some good innate balance. Maybe he's the next Tiger Woods of skateboarding.


Mostly he was just incredibly cute. The skateboard looked almost as large as a surfboard in his arms.

He and his dad, Jonathan, were at it for over an hour and he was totally into it the entire time. The best was watching him stand between his dad's legs so he could go for a full speed ride whipping up and around the curves.

I wish I'd had a dad growing up. Especially one that took me skateboarding. It was still a very life-affirming sight to see this young father taking such care and showing patience with his little boy.

Maybe I need to marry a black woman just so I can have a son with a cool fro.

Happy Last Days on Earth Day

As morbid as it sounds I've taken to thinking of Earth Day not as a day to care for and celebrate the Earth but as a day to remember that before there were so many careless, money-hungry, selfish, apathetic fucks a.k.a. "people" on the planet it was probably a very nice place to live.


Essentially the Earth has a huge problem. Humans. We get this amazing home and for tens of thousands of years we manage to coexist with nature and not pervert it. Then right around the time of the Industrial Revolution that all changed. We started burning loads of coal to smelt metals and sending C02 and other lovely chemicals into the air. Good old strip mining came around then, too. Get a big pressurized water cannon to blast a hole in the planet using it's own water. Genius. It's about as smart as giving yourself a golden shower.

People are crying over the economy right now and we're throwing trillions of dollars and trying to lap dance all over it to put on a convincing show as we furiously grind on the financial crisis like a stripper giving her first lap dance. The best that the much bigger crisis of the environment can get is a bit of tit sweat. It seems people are certain that even if we have no livable planet to exist on we'll need to have a healthy stock portfolio.

I'm not some guy who makes his own clothes but I do try and do my part not to be an asshole, lazy consumer too. I teach kids about how to care for the planet but it's not with the idea that we can save it. I'm just hoping they can buy themselves a bit of extra time. This fucker has been totaled. We done and crashed it real good. We did such a bang up job banging it up that I sincerely hope we don't find a nice new planet to colonize because I'm sure that humans will simply take a big toxic shit on Earth 2.

Today I took 20 little five and six-year-olds to pick up all the trash and cigarette butts (toxic trash that goes into the ocean) on two blocks near our school. We found 236 of them. We wore rubber gloves so the poisons and chemicals that they pack into those non-biodegradable crack sticks didn't get on our fingers. I could still smell the stench in my mind hours after we had cleaned out hands. They kept asking me "Why do people put cigarettes out on the ground if there are so many kinds of chemicals and poisons on them?" I told them that people didn't really think about how damagaging a small cigarette can be to the health of the Earth and the oceans.

As this Krankiboy sees it the biggest problem (even now) in the Yes, We Can Obama days is environmental apathy. Aside from a few hundred thousand green-minded people who really do care what kind of planet their kids and future generations will live on nobody else gives a wet fart about what happens when they're gone. If trees couldn't grow in their yard they'd just buy some pretty plastic ones and the problem would be solved. Green is the latest buzz word. So, okay douche bag auto-executive, go right ahead and make people think they are doing something to help slow the death of the planet by saying you make your tires from recycled poker chips if you want to. You're still selling a big piece of fossil fuel burning crap. The irony is that he'll probably use the bonus he gets from his brilliant advertising sales gimmick to take his fake-titted mistress on a fancy Vegas trip in his brand new, foreign, luxury car to fuck her brains out in the new Circus Circus penthouse suite. As a result of placing a pretty green band-aids on a bleeding chest cavity we'll all be dead and gone in 500 years but the cockroaches will be able to congregate under her fake implants for hundreds of generations.

Sadly, of the billions of dollars (that's chump change considering what is required) going into alternate energy development a good portion is going to something called "clean coal" technology. This is a joke technology. It's not magic coal. It's regular coal and they try to keep the horribly toxic gas byproducts from leaking out. But guess what they haven't mentioned. They can't get it to work. They can't even do it on a small scale but the coal lobby in the U.S. has sold us on the pipe dream that all this gas can be somehow contained. It's a huge roll of the dice when solar and wind power are proven to be clean. Even if NASA, the Keebler Elves, Harry Potter and the The Tooth Fairy all sat down and did find a means to do it, it would result in a kind of mining that reaps havoc on the Earth.

The environment needs a bit more than lip service. Imagine if you went to your doctor with a major illness and told him everything that is wrong with you and exactly how to fix it and he then nods, smiles, hands you a happy face sticker and pushes you out of his office.

Oh, and Happy Earth Day! Enjoy it while it's here and still green(ish).

Word of the Week

The Word of the Week is fuckstanance.

Definition: The minimimum amount of fucking required to sustain somebody.

Carla's friend told her that she was in danger of dying if she didn't get some fuckstanance soon.

Californication Connections

I've come to the conclusion that I have been too guarded in what I write and I need to get back to not giving a shit. Here goes.

So I was watching Californication the Showtime series with David Duchovny and was really enjoying it and aside from the fact that his character Hank Moody has a 12 year old (which I don't) and is a semi-famous novelist who smokes (I ain't) and is much better looking than I am (though I have a better nose) and hooks up with super, hot women constantly (I sometimes do if fate smiles on me) and he is having severe and ongoing writers block (mine is just becoming severe. Plus blogs don't count unless they make them into a book) he is almost living my life if I was still living in Los Angeles instead of San Francisco. So I really related to his character. He often talks about getting "pointless pussy." He also does things like punch dudes unconscious, which I have never done unless you count fourth grade when that big special ed (retarded kid with anger issues) grabbed me and I hit him with my elbow and knocked him down and bloodied his nose. I had some anger issues of my own when I was little. It all goes with not having a father anywhere in your life and being completely pissed off and not in touch with that rage. So sometimes it came out and was used for good and other times I'd go all Krankiboy baby Hulk and do some damage to a less deserving individual such as the kid I brained with a chair... okay two kids on two occasions, and the kid I hit with a rock, and that hooker I killed in Scranton a few weeks ago. Sometimes the wrong person just crosses your path in the wrong way at the wrong time and they pay the price. I don't think I would have lasted very long in the Old West. Either that or I'd have a legend. Kranki the chair swingingest, rock chuckingest, whore killer. Feared by the good working folk of Scranton. Nowadays I'm a pretty gentle, sweet-heart of a guy who nurtures plants, dogs and children on a regular basis. I like being a sweet guy but there are still times when it would be great to be able to pop a guy in the mouth for being a complete jackhole misogynist to a female friend. The unfortunate thing is that chivalry is also a good way to get shot or get the crap beaten out of you. I don't really know where I'm going with this ramble right now but I do know that I do have to catch a flight back to Scranton in less than an hour. I have to deal with a loose end of a pimp that happened to observe a bit more than he should have.

Oh right, I was supposed to stop giving a crap and get back to the inner Krankiness that catapulted me to blog mediocrity and massive fame*.



* On certain computers in Melbourne, even fewer in Sydney and for one cool dude in Africa.

Slack Hack

It's been hard to get back into being a writer again. I still have all the ideas but the desire to actually sit down and write seems to be somewhat lost. I think all the Face Booking and emailing I do with my friends and other strange acquaintances saps some of my time and energy that I once reserved for writing. I think collaboration will be my salvation. I always enjoyed being a part of a group that brainstormed up ideas together so it had an instantaneous quality to it and allowed me to get feedback and laugh. That's true but it's also a cop out because I used to blog regularly and that was all on my ownsome lonesome. Maybe it's the strange brain chemistry and how the items I ingest affect my brain chemistry. I wonder if there is a writers diet I could eat.

Trying to dig back into writing reminds me a bit of going back to the gym after slacking for months and losing your muscle tone. It's not the fun experience that releases endorphins that it once was. It's just work.

Frisky Business

So I'm really excited to be starting my own business. It's a match making service for animals looking for love. It's a difficult time to be launching a new business with the economy in such a state but an idea this brilliant is going to rise above the tide of mediocrity and financial strife like a champion surfer catching a monster wave. San Francisco has a tremendous number of dogs and cats. That's partly due to the fact that there are lots of crazy old aging hippie cat ladies living here and old dudes that are so burnt out from smoking so much pot/and or being mentally disturbed that they choose only to interact with canines. So that's a plus I have going for me.

Animal orifices truly are an untapped market.

Now the only things I have to figure out are...

1) How to ask for a loan from a bank for a business that helps animals fuck each other.

2) How to get the owners to pay me for something they can get for free at the park.

3) What to do if there are especially kinky requests for the type of animal sex desired.

4) What will the logo on the side of the van will look like?

There is great potential for a variety of side products such as animal sex toys, strap-ons, cat and dog specific contraception for non-neutered animals.

The sheer variety of meat-related lubrication flavors are staggering.

Perfumes and aromas could enhance the romance even more. Why not splash on some Cat Scratch Fever scent kitty cologne before getting randy with that Siamese? Why not a bit of Toilet Water scented toilet water to make that beagle smell just a touch more regal?

Maybe even a line of post-coital cigarettes for dogs and cats. They'd even have a neck strap that attaches to the collar for easy smoking.

It's just in its humble beginnings now but one day (fingers crossed) there will be Frisky Business vans rolling all across the country transporting sexually satisfied animals to and from pleasure town.

p.s. I found a sponsor to help me get the business off the ground.

Welcome to LAX

I landed in Los Angeles International Airport to begin a visit a few weeks ago. The moment I got out of the terminal and out to where cars and cabs pick you up a woman who looked as if she worked for the airport was in my face. She was a black woman who looked to be in her mid forties. She immediately approached me and rather than provide me with travel assistance we had the following (as best as I can recall) conversation.

Her: Hey sugar, how are you?

Me: Fine, thanks.

Her: How are you fixed for a mistress?

Me: A mistress?

Her: Yeah, I bet a good-looking fella like you got a girl but I bet you ain't getting the dark chocolate goodness on the side, is you?

At this point she puts her hands on my waist and pulls herself next to me as I look desperately for my friend who is supposed to be picking me up.

Me: Um... Of course I have a mistress. Don't I look like I'd have one?

Her: Are you a rock star?

Me: Do rock stars fly on South West?

She takes me by the hand.

Her: No, but I bet you could rock me real good.

Me: You explain that to my wife okay?

Her: I'm just playing with you sweetie.

Then she lets go of my hand and spanks me on the ass.

It was odd to have my physical space violated by a woman like that. If the genders had been reversed it would have been almost criminal.

I can't help but wonder what the hell she does there or if she even works for the airport. Her ID badge and clipboard suggest that she does but I'm at a loss to imagine how she could keep a job if she does that to people at the airport. I don't imagine people are less easy going than I am and it was a bit much even for me.

I think I'm getting younger

Yes, I think I'm getting younger. While my body is still affected by gravity and my hair isn't coming in thicker and I still have to shave every day and my energy level isn't the same as it once was I still feel that I am getting younger. Here are some reasons that lead me to think this way.

1) I enjoy playing with toys and just yesterday bough a monkey in a leather jacket. I know it's hard to believe that I didn't already own one.

2) I gave a "light show" to the birthday boy at the last party I attended.

3) I was involved in a blindfolded kissing experiment a few weeks ago. Please note I was the only male in attendance.

4) Five years ago I was settled down, married and looking at buying a house. Now I am single, live in a shared apartment, and enjoy buying cool t-shirts.

5) I struggle to clean my room.

6) I wear a tie about once a year on average.

7) I recently bought a remote control car. I have a very difficult time going to the Drug Store without going to see what is in the games and toys isle.

8) Sparkly and shiny things draw my attention. I am forever bringing things home that I find on the street. My housemates are starting to find this habit is no longer charming.

9) I have a bug collection. (it's to teach the students, but still...)

10) I like dressing up more now as an "adult" than I did when I was a boy.

Maybe spending every weekday with five and six-year-old kids is having an affect on me.

Silly Friendster

Oh, Friendster, your sad ploys to bring me back to you are about as transparent as a wet pair of sheer panties in the bright summer sun. It's time for you to go quietly into the night where you can find a dark cave to curl up, get into the virtual fetal position and fade away. I see at the bottom of this page that Friendster hopes to reclaim it's market share by offering Friendster in the language of Tagalog. That should catapult them to social networking supremacy.
	New Message Find Your Friends
	You have received a new message from Theda on Friendster. The message was sent on 02/04/09 02:01 PM. View Message
	Friendster now in Tagalog! Invite friends and family that know Tagalog to join you on Friendster.

Back to Writing

I'm going to try and start writing here again.  Too many amazing, weird, wrong, funny, painful, messy, delightful, lucky, random things have been happening to let them slip away unkhronicled.

How to Annoy Your Friends

One good way to bother your friends is to constantly ask their advice about your complicated relationship. The thing about some of your friends is that they won't let your sharing the minute details and obsessing over them bother them right away. If they are good friends they might even be able to put up with hearing the same story about your text message conversation two or three times before they try to abruptly change the conversation or start looking at their cell phone to see if anybody more interesting that you has called them. You need to be persistent. A few of these friends will even check back in and actually call you to hear more about your situation and how you're handling what they might refer to as "your unique and challenging situation." Now it is these friends who do genuinely care about you and your happiness are the toughest ones to irritate. Simply doing repetitive musing and rehashing the tiniest details is not a guaranteed way to bore them. You may have to dig even deeper into your bag of dysfunctional, relationship insecurity. Remember there is no such thing as too much mundane detail. It also helps if you go out of your way to avoid talking about any other topics the entire time you are with your friend so they don't accidentally get something of value back from their interactions with you. Nobody said it was easy. Now get out there and irritate!

Sex Francisco

Since moving to San Francisco a year and a half ago I've had my fair share of dating excitement and more than my share of misadventures. I've been told that some of the more detailed accounts are worth writing down for posterity and perhaps to allow others to laugh at me.

There was the 23 year old from the hostel with the amazing tattoo of The Little Prince on her arm and the shreadded Courtney Lovetype dress who was utterly wasted and jumped in front of a moving van and flashed her undies at the scary dudes in the car. They heckled her and my friends and I pulled her off before I got my ass kicked. Later on, after showing virtually no interest in me, she abruptly and awkwardly pulled me in for a kiss while my mouth was filled with nachos and guacamole. This took place in the in a loud, brightly-lit taqueria. Not the most romantic of settings. She did this a few times until I decided the best thing to do was just leave. While walking down the street she started trying to remove my pants to have sex with me. I had to ask her several times to please keep her clothes on until we got to my place. I found out later that she had consumed almost an entire bottle of Jagermeister shortly before I met up with her.

There was the social worker gal who I met on-line who neglected to mention that she was on crutches and suffered from osteonecrosis. A rare and terrible disease that had begun to kill the bones in her legs and would likely force her to become wheel-chair bound in the near future. The literal translation of soteonecrosis is "death of the bone."

There were a handful of utterly forgetful on-line initiated meet-ups that were forgotten almost before they were over.

There were a three amazing women that I met and became very close friends with.

There was the attractive, clinical psychologist puma* who literally picked me up via MySpace. On our second date I ended up helping her euthanize her cat and had intense grief sex. This turned into a routine of bi-monthly appointment sex. After a few months of this I was wondering how best to end things with her when I got a very well-written and professional diagnosis of how "we were not adequately meeting one another's socio-emotional needs." It was so technically worded that I almost expected to find an attached bill for services rendered.

There was the recent divorcee who suffered from acute adult A.D.D. who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes without getting up to move around and would become utterly mesmirized by shiny things and trinkets in stores. On one occasion she brought her car to a screaching hault so she could get out and run over to look at some flowers in somebody's yard. There were cars that had to stop behind us. She also liked to randomly share the most intimate details including the time she had a botched laser eloctrolisis performed on her bikini area and now had a "cheetah pussy." Her words, not mine. Then when I pulled away from her and her "issues" she became incredibly persistant in calling, emailing, texting and facebook messaging me a few times a day. She just left me another voice mail message telling me how she was listening to "our mix CD" and realized just how much she missed me and my company.

There was the woman who was a few inches taller than me that weirded me out. She also seemed to be surgically attached to her pot pipe and smoked it continuously to the point that her clothes were so infused with the scent of ganja that they'd probably give you a mild high if you were to smoke them.

There was a short-lived flirtation and one time fling with a gal who was in a bicycle dancing troup and was only into non-exclusive open relationships. She told me she was currently seeing five different guys.

Now, after wading through all that social muck, I find myself in the longest and most enjoyable of all my San Francisco relationships where the young woman and I really care about each other, we click really well physically and we enjoy spending long stretches of time with one another. Strong feelings have begun to form and of course she's going to be moving out of the country in a few months time. So, I find myself balancing having a good time with protecting my feelings in what feels like some kind of expiration dating. Life is short and you have to find enjoyment where you can.

It's been extremely interesting and eventful and I've left out half of the other missteps and embarrassing twists and turns that frequent social drinking and a summer of not having to work can help create but really I'm getting quite exhausted by it all. While I want to have all kinds of interesting experiences and explore the mysterious world of women, I must admit that this city and it's women are starting to seriously wear me out. I'm hoping that I'll be getting my second wind very, very soon. Otherwise it could make for a long, cold, lonely, winter.

*young cougar

Kids and Consequences

Hey, remember me? I used to write stuff here and people would sometimes read it.

I thought I'd try writing a bit and see if it got my juices flowing a bit. I feel a bit like an athlete going back into training. Hopefully it won't be too painful an experience to get back into the swing of things. Ideally it'll be as easy as riding a bike. Perhaps I could even coin the new expression "It's like writing a blog."

So, I'm back to teaching kindergarten this year and I quite like it thus far. Trust me, adults are overrated when it comes to keeping you entertained.

One cute kid moment involved me talking about the rules and consequences. I let them help me set the classroom rules so they feel empowered. It's new age teaching crap.

I gave the kids an example to help make it more clear. "What if Oscar kept forgetting to put the colored pencils away even after he got several reminders? Then the next day he left the materials out again and even broke a point of the pencil on purpose? What would be a good way to help him remember?

Kylie enthusiastically raises her hand.

Me: "Kylie, what do you think should happen?"

Kylie: "You should give Oscar more fish to eat. Fish is brain food! That way he will remember better."

The kids are smarter than me. Send help.

48 Hour Film Festival

It's hard doing an entire film (even a short film) in 48 hours. You write it, cast it, shoot it, edit it and do the music and there may only be 2 minutes left before the thing gets turned in.

I hope it turned out well. I'll know when I see it on the big screen next Monday.

Wish me luck. I'll post a link to it on You Tube when it's up.

www.48hourfilm.com

For My Consideration

So, I'm considering some things. I thought I'd write them down and be able to look back and see which I actually chose and which ones I didn't fully embrace.

I'm considering...

1) buying a fancy camera so that I can be a mediocre photographer with an excellent camera. It's like giving those thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters word processors so they can work even faster. Eventually I'm bound to take a good snap.

2) giving up on heterosexual women and just being the male version of a fag hag. I'm thinking of calling myself a Dyke Rider. Maybe I can start a trend. I wonder if I'd have to buy new clothes? I'm open to helpful input here.

3) getting around to paying my taxes for 2007.

4) a radical career and life change and move after my next year of teaching. Yep, another one.

5) dropping out of civilization to live off the land. No, wait, that sounds tiring. Much as I'd enjoy not getting any junk mail it would suck to have to teach woodland creatures to be my friends AND have to eat the very same creatures to survive.

6) opium, opium, opium. Light me up!

7) getting up to go pee and then getting a refreshing beverage.

Three Pennies

Last night I met up with some friends at a drink to help charity event. I think this particular charity was about abolishing the Prison Industrial Complex. I don't really know what the fuck that means but it matters to somebody so why not raise some money for the alcohol appreciation society at the same time. It was a fairly friendly crowd.

After my friends and I closed out the bar we got some lovely pizza. I treated because I'm frighteningly wealthy and generous. I had to leave because they started using some kind of nasty smelling cleaner. So while my friends finished their pizza I met a loud homeless woman who told me that it was her birthday and asked me if she looked good for 49.

I told her she was 49 and looked just fine because I am a dynamic street poet with crazy rhyme skillz. She continued to speak to me about her uncle and her sister who were down the street and not taking care of her. Finally my friends came outside and we could leave, but the woman insisted that I'd promised to give her three pennies. I actually had three pennies on me but I was taken aback by the idea that I had promised her anything. Also I thought giving her three pennies would just piss her off more. I told her I hadn't promised her anything but she insisted that I absolutely had. I told her that I no longer believed her that it was her birthday and I was leaving. She got very annoyed and said that she should kick her size 14 shoe right up my ass. If somebody lies and then threatens you does that automatically take back your compliment?

It's not always good to get attention.

When I'm an angry homeless black woman I'm going to remember to be nice to people. Especially on my birthday.

An Open Letter to Facebook

Hey Facebook,

It's Kranki here. I see you've been in the news a lot and you're getting more popular every day. That's awesome, congrats. Listen, you and I have spent a good amount of quality time together. Remember when we stayed up all night and I drank too much and passed out right next to you? I had the keyboard imprint on the side of my face. LOL! ROFL! Good times, good times... Anyway, I know you're busy and don't want to pressure you or anything because you know that's not my style. I do however need to made a simple request. Can you please make me look cooler? Please?

If I wait for my friends to do it, it'll never happen. They're far too busy finding terrible and embarrassing pictures of me to share. Pictures where I'm in some idiotic pose with a stupid prop or where my hair has grown out into a mullet because I was on vacation and didn't care. Pictures where I'm clearly going to be hung over the next day and doing something "zany" or "wacky." Or they'll find the one picture where I accidentally Frenched one of their dogs. That kinda thing. As you can imagine while it shows I have a fun side it doesn't really convey cool. And while I know I'm not some runway model with brooding good-looks I still think I deserve better from you, Face. I mean, I don't want to have to remind you that I left MySpace for you. I've only spoken through MySpace a handful of times in the past year. I've made a commitment to you. Lately though I've been having my doubts about your commitment to my happiness and my needs. So, I really need to know where our relationship headed. I didn't want to say it but with you my sex life has really gone down hill. MySpace was helping me get ass pretty regular. MySpace helped get me laid by nearly a dozen* women. What kind of action do I get from you? Zero. Sure you helped get me back in contact with some dear old friends from high school and college and you've certainly introduced me to some interesting Australians but get your act together, dude, they live in Australia. I'm here in San Francisco.

I'm getting off track here, it's not all about hooking me up with attractive women.** I also want to be taken a bit more seriously as a creative artist. Look, what I'm basically saying is you owe me for my loyalty. You need to start making me look like a cool, sophisticated, man about town. If you can't do that I may be forced to do something drastic. That's right, if you can't hold up your end of the deal I may be forced to leave the house to meet people. Let's both hope it doesn't come to that. Get it together, Face. I want to work this out. I love you, man.

p.s. I'm still kinda ticked off that you made me use my real name. So much for an intriguing mystery name that implies I'm a jaded malcontent with a playful edge.


* really just 7 times

** it isn't?

Monty Magic was Wondering

My handsome and learned friend, Monty, from South Africa (I only have one there since I never bothered to exchange information with the topless chick that I met in Amsterdam who was painting mushrooms and rainbow zebras in the basement of a bike shop. She didn't strike me as much of a corresponder anyway) wanted to know what happened on the aggravating Saturday night a few weeks back. Well, I wasted time on a very frustrating person who happens to suffer from adult A.D.D. and is freshly divorced and carries with her a whole mess of baggage and intimacy issues. It seems that I am going to actually have to call her and tell her that she isn't somebody with whom I wish to spend my time with. Why do we always give the attractive ones more chances?* She seems to find the dynamic of leading me and lately my friends on then feigning complete ignorace of the ways in which human beings interact with one another to be delightful fun that we should do again real soon. I did enjoy when she jump-kicked off of the moving bus, but that was only because there was a danger of her falling, hitting her head and becoming more sane.

I am looking forward to not having to worry about San Francisco and the strange cards it has seen fit to deal me. Granted I've proven not to be a very good card player but you still need a few good hands to with the pot. Bluffing doesn't work as well in the real world as it does in cards. Or maybe it does and I should start wearing my "I am so fuckin' happy and rich!" shirt. Soon I will be on vacation and despite being too sick to undertake the flight and long road trip I am about to undertake I'm going. If you're good Uncle Kranki will bring back a shiny anecdote for you from Colorado. I will think of you as I soak my feet in the hot tub at a very large and elegant Telluride home.



























































* That's easy. It's because we're all a selfish and shallow lot of fools who are taken in by packaging.

Ear Plugs

I can always tell when the lesbian couple upstairs are about to get conjugal because it's the only time that they run their shower in the evening. Sometimes it's fun to listen to their love-making but most of the time it just keeps me up. I've actually invested in a pair of ear plugs. The side of the box doesn't guarantee that it will protect the wearer from the sounds of Saphic pleasuring but they really do block out nearly all of the noise. I don't hear any of the moans, grunts or fevered whimpers of pleasure. I only hear the creak of the floor when they change positions. I really should send in a letter to the ear plug company telling them how helpful their product has been.

I just wasted a Saturday Night. I can't tell you what I was doing because I'm ashamed that I didn't trust my better judgement and just made other plans for the night. But I fucking god damn well didn't trust my judgement and ended up listening to my Id and my friend Mr. S and ended up spending time with a crazy person who annoys me 85% of the time I'm around them.

I will never get this Saturday Night back ever again. I could write the next great novel of our time but no matter how poignant and evocative that piece of shit international best seller is, I will still never be able to unlive this evening and gain back the time wasted on foolish notions.

You can't change a person into a sane person and you certainly can't trick them into being sane, so if you are around somebody and they are acting crazy and.... now the phone is ringing. It's the crazy person in question. Thanking me for hanging out tonight and trying to convince me to keep trying with them. I think not. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 9 times and I'm a martyr to a pointless cause.

Thanks Dee Dee!

I believe it was Sophocles who said it.

"To truly know a man you must first crash out on the dude's couch."

It's been a while since this kranki old boy has strung together two back to back out till five am nights.. This morning I was pleased to learn that my kind host, Mr. Wright, grinds his own coffee beans. After a night of mild mayhem it takes a while for me to do my morning-after damage assessment. It isn't until I've cradled the reassuringly warm and solid mug in my hands and taken the first few sips of comforting caffeinated brew into my system that I know my brain is still mostly intact. At that point I always say a silent pagan prayer of thanks to the God of wine, women, and song. I think that particular god's name is Decadence. Although his close friends just call him Dee Dee.

Since Enny asked

This is what happened. She talked about her ex boyfriend entirely too much, called me a lightweight drinker (I am. Plus I was full from dinner, but no guy likes to hear that) which caused me to drink more than I needed. I kissed her at one point and it was nice but then she said she had to go at 10:24 pm to do some work which when she described it sounded like it was less than urgent to me. I told her that was bullshit, but fine. Then on the way up the hill walking back to her car she said she couldn't make it and I picked her up. She was too fucking heavy and I was too drunk and I went to place her atop some recycling bins and kiss her sexily but ended up dropping her on the light and empty bins and face planting her into a parked car. If that wasn't bad enough there were some people who saw the whole thing and uncaringly asked if we were okay before telling us to pick up all the containers that we had knocked over. She apologized for being too heavy and I walked her to her car, made a quick joke about promising not to call her and hurried inside. I went to sleep even though I should probably have just slit my wrists in the bathtub. At least I don't work with her... Oh, wait... FUCK!

Date with Disaster

I think it was the worst date I've ever gone on and the second worst date I've ever heard of. The worst date I've ever heard of happened to my friend. She was out on a mediocre date with a guy who was driving back from the restaurant and began to accelerate to almost 75 miles per hour on a residential street. She asked him what was wrong and insisted that he slow down. He wasn't listening to her but a few minutes after speeding up he suddenly lowered his head and looked totally dejected as he brought the car's speed down to just 20 miles per hour.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

He said nothing and just looked out at the road. This weirded her out and caused her to genuinely worry.

"Hey, you need to tell me what the hell is going on!" She insisted.

He finally looked up at her. At that very moment she began to smell a terrible odor that was far more than just flatulence.

"Well," he said. "It's just that the food didn't... I really like you and... I was nervous so..."

Then the smell hit her with its full nostril curdling force and she realized that the guy she was on a date with had just shit in his pants.

"Nevermind, just let me off right here and this never happened."

My date wasn't that bad, but it was very close.

Pre Bay to Breakers

Well tomorrow will be my first Bay to Breakers. It's really strange to be waking up at 7:30 in the morning on a Sunday to go get drunk and watch athletes mingle with costumed eccentrics and naked people.

I have my Bubble Boy costume just about all ready to go. I have a bubble wrap cape, utility belt and a bubble hat. I also have my trusty, crime-fighting bubble wand that shoots a few hundred bubbles per blast. Look out evil. You've never seen anything so intimidating.

Dudes at the Park

My day was very trippy. But it wasn't my fault. It was all because of some dudes at the park who, as part of their product promotion, were giving away free samples of their "special cookies." As it turns out these cookies were extremely special. So special in fact that even just half a cookie can have you forgetting how to properly text message and/or stand without falling.

It is a testament to my lack of responsibilities that I can engage in this form of consumer spending. Free 16 hour high. The Dudes at the park are a welcome addition to the small businesses that cater to the laid-back, park-dwelling bohemians.

MM

Mackin' with Jesus

Saturday was the birthday of a young woman I know. She's cool, has great taste in music, some big tattoos and she cuts my hair when I can be bothered to tame my mullet back into hair that a non-caveman hippie human should have. I assumed that she would probably have a bunch of cool female friends so I invited one of the few guy friends I have here in SF to join me.

The best-looking woman at the dinner party was - and I'm not sure the proper term here so I'll just use all of them and be utterly politically incorrect - a midget, dwarf, little person, hobbit.*

At the Beauty Bar we watched some very attractive lipstick lesbians dance until the music just became utter shit and the visual enjoyment was overwhelmed by the auditory irritation. Then my friend and I went off to another place to have a drink. There were no lipstick lesbians or midgets there and shockingly we were able to get a table on a Saturday night.

When my friend popped off to the bathroom this Chinese woman and a tall guy with a salt and pepper beard invited themselves to sit down across from me. They looked interesting so I didn't care that they'd just plopped down. Jeff and Cindy introduced themselves and Jeff told me they'd just been talking about the reproductive tendencies that have been hard-wired into the male mind. I think I impressed them by telling them about a few authors and works I've read on the subject. I asked if they were discussing the topic from a modern sociological standpoint or a more anthropological point of view. Jeff didn't know what to make of that. I think his drinks were catching up with him because I didn't understand his response.

My friend returned and we asked Cindy, the Chinese chick, how she and Jeff knew each other. This proved to be the absolute best question to have possibly asked her. It was probably the only interesting area of conversation to be mined but it was a productive shaft to chip at.

It turned out that Cindy was here from England going to art school and she was currently doing a video installation entitled "If God doesn't do it for you, try making out with his son." Here is the gist of it. When she was a girl attending Catholic School she was fascinated with the image of Jesus that hung in her auditorium. She was particularly entranced with his beard which she would day dream about often. So now her video installation entails her filming herself making out with men whom she doesn't really know who have beards. As she explained it "I like to go to their apartments after arranging to meet them and I video tape them making out with me for as long as we can until it becomes uncomfortable or awkward." She had recorded just seven guys so far and she was feeling a bit down about her low number of subjects. When Jeff went to get more drinks and probably flirt with other women she confessed that she had developed a bit of a crush on this guy Jeff who she had just met because he is in an all beard-having, male, acapella group that sings Leonard Cohen songs. The name of the group is Conspiracy of Beards so it seemed a good idea to approach this group and try and convince some of these guys to make out with her on camera.

I asked her to show me how she would ask me if I had a beard so that we could see her approach and I have to say it was about as terrible as one could imagine. I gave her some pointers on how to talk to these guys and I suggested that she should go down to the Castro district and see if gay men would be open to the idea.

She told me she was writing my name and number down in her little book because I had "a special quality about me." I made it clear that I had no plans to grow a beard anytime soon so I doubt I will actually hear from Cindy, the Chinese chick with a wide-on for guys that look like Jesus who makes a weak attempt to hide her fetish as something resembling art.

I never understood why any woman would want to have a beard up rub against their face while kissing a man.

* I know you were hoping this post was going to be about how I had hot, kinky, sex with a little person. I can't say I blame you.